.

The dawn was barely a suggestion against the heavy velvet curtains of their hotel suite, leaving the room bathed in a deep, oceanic blue. Joe was dead to the world, his massive frame taking up more than his fair share of the king-sized bed. His breathing was heavy and rhythmic, the deep rumble of a man who carried the weight of an entire wrestling dynasty on his shoulders and only found peace in the quiet hours of the morning. One thick arm was draped over his head, the intricate ink of his sleeve disappearing into the shadows of the pillows.

Vic watched him for a moment, her eyes tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the rise and fall of his chest. She was wide awake, her body humming with a restless, agonizing energy that had pulled her from sleep minutes ago. It wasn't just desire; it was a physical ache, a desperate need to be anchored by him. She felt hyper-aware of everything—the silk of the sheets against her skin felt like sandpaper, and the cool air of the room made her nerve endings prickle.

Moving with a slow, predatory grace, she crawled over him. She straddled his thick thighs, her weight settling against the heat of his body. Joe stirred but didn't wake, a low groan vibrating in his throat.

Vic didn't wait. She leaned forward, her long hair falling like a curtain around them, and began to grind her hips against him. She was wearing only a thin lace camisole, and the friction of her body against his boxers sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. She was already slick, her body betrayed by the sheer intensity of her craving.

"Joe," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Joe, please."

She rotated her pelvis, pressing down hard, seeking the friction she needed. The sensation was so sharp, so immediate, that she gasped, her head falling back. She felt like a live wire, overstimulated and on the verge of snapping.

Joe’s eyes flickered open, dark and clouded with sleep. It took him a second to register the weight on his lap, but as soon as he felt the rhythmic movement of her hips, his hands instinctively flew to her waist. His grip was firm, his large palms spanning the entirety of her sides.

"Vic?" his voice was a gravelly bass, thick with confusion and rising heat. "What time is it?"

"I don't care," she choked out, her movements becoming more frantic. She leaned down, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of cedarwood and warm skin. "I need you. Right now. I can’t... I’m so sensitive, Joe. Everything hurts."

He could feel it now—the way she was trembling, the way her skin felt fever-hot against his. He sat up slightly, propping himself on his elbows, watching her through hooded eyes. The sight of her above him, her face flushed and her eyes glassy with tears of pure frustration, hit him like a physical blow.

"You're shaking, baby," he murmured, his thumbs stroking the soft skin above her hips.

"Because I'm dying," she sobbed, a single tear escaping and landing on his chest. "Please, Joe. Don't make me wait."

He didn't need to be told twice. With a grunt of effort, he flipped them over in one fluid motion, pinning her beneath him. The sudden shift in weight, the feeling of his heavy body pressing her into the mattress, made her cry out. Her senses were so heightened that even the pressure of his chest against hers felt overwhelming, a beautiful kind of agony.

He stripped her quickly, his movements efficient but filled with a restrained hunger. When he finally pushed inside her, Vic’s back arched off the bed, a high, thin wail escaping her lips. It was too much and not enough all at once. Every inch of her felt like it was glowing, the friction of his entry sending waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain.

"Oh god, Joe," she wept, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, digging into the muscle. "Slow... no, don't stop. Just... please."

Joe paused, hovering over her, his muscles bunching as he tried to keep his own composure. He saw the way her eyes were squeezed shut, the way her breath was coming in ragged, shallow gasps. She looked undone, completely at the mercy of what he was doing to her.

"Look at me, Vic," he commanded softly.

She opened her eyes, her pupils blown wide, swimming with tears. "It's too much," she whispered. "I feel everything. I feel every part of you."

"I know," he said, his voice dropping to a low, soothing hum. He began to move again, but this time it was slow, agonizingly deep thrusts that forced her to feel every sensation. "I've got you. Just breathe for me."

But breathing was impossible. Every time he hit that specific spot, her world tilted. She was so sensitive that the mere touch of his lips against her collarbone made her whimper. She was sobbing now, not from sadness, but from the sheer, unadulterated sensory overload. Her body was a symphony of nerves, and Joe was playing every single one of them with a devastating precision.

"You're so tight," Joe groaned, his own control slipping as he felt her internal muscles clenching around him in desperate pulses. "You're going to break me, Vic."

"I can't help it," she gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper. "I'm right there. Joe, I'm right there and it’s too much—"

She broke then, her entire body seizing as a violent, crashing climax took hold of her. She cried out his name, the sound muffled against his shoulder as she wept into his skin. The pleasure was so sharp it was almost frightening, a white-hot explosion that left her gasping for air, her vision blurring.

Joe didn't stop. He watched her go over the edge, his own expression one of fierce, protective intensity. He increased the pace, his breaths coming in harsh growls, until he followed her into the fray, his body tensing as he found his own release within her.

In the aftermath, the room was silent save for the sound of their labored breathing. Joe collapsed onto her, careful not to crush her, but needing the contact. He tucked her head under his chin, his hand stroking her hair as her sobs slowly subsided into shaky breaths.

"You okay?" he whispered, his voice full of a rare, soft tenderness.

Vic nodded weakly, her face pressed against his heart. She felt drained, raw, and completely cherished. The overstimulation had faded into a warm, heavy glow that settled in her bones.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice small. "I just... I woke up and I couldn't breathe without you."

Joe shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling her tightly against him, cocooning her in his warmth. He kissed the top of her head, his grip possessive and steady.

"Don't ever apologize for needing me," he said firmly. "I'm the Tribal Chief, Vic. I take care of what’s mine. And you're mine."

She closed her eyes, finally feeling the peace she had been seeking. Wrapped in his arms, the world outside didn't matter. There was only the steady beat of his heart and the lingering heat of their skin, a quiet sanctuary built in the early morning light.