Austin turned toward me then, eyes catching mine in the dim glow from the stove light, his hand brushing my waist as he passed by—an absent touch that still felt deliberate.
His touch was possessive, like I belonged to him in ways neither of us had put into words yet. Desire danced across my skin.
He moved past me again, flipping off the last light in the living room. The house settled into a hush, and the quiet stretched between us—not empty, but full. Full of everything we weren’t saying.
I stood still, heart beginning to thrum low and steady, as he came to stand behind me. His hand slid around my waist, warm and steady, pulling me back into his chest. I could feel the beat of his heart where it pressed against my spine.
“You ever think,” he murmured, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear, “that maybe I like playing house with you?”
A shiver rolled down my spine.
His fingers drifted up, slow and reverent, grazing the underside of my breast through the soft cotton of my shirt. I let out a shaky breath.
“Because I do,” he said, voice low. “I fucking love it.” His mouth brushed against the thin skin of my neck.
I turned in his arms, my palms settling against his chest. That same cedar-and-skin scent I was starting to crave. “Austin ...”
I didn’t have a follow-up. Not really. Just his name, just the ache of it.
He leaned down, capturing my mouth in a kiss that started soft—tender enough to undo me. Then his hands slid beneath my shirt and everything shifted.
I didn’t remember walking to the bedroom. I soaked up the feel of his mouth trailing heat down my throat, the way his body guided mine through the door, how my shirt disappeared without me noticing. I was vaguely aware of the way the last streak of light faded from the room behind us. It felt likeeverything we’d held back until now was crumbling between our bodies.
He laid me back against the sheets like he was offering up a prayer, his hands reverent against my skin.
I arched into him, thighs parting instinctively as he pressed his mouth to the space below my ribs.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, kissing the line of my stomach. “Every inch of you.”
My body tensed, shame rising before I could stop it—automatic, conditioned. The soft places I usually covered. The faint stretch marks, the lines, the reality of motherhood etched across my skin.
He must’ve felt the shift, because he stilled and looked up at me.
“Don’t do that,” he said, gently caressing my skin with his mouth. “Don’t hide from me.”
“I’m not,” I whispered, though it wasn’t fully true.
Austin came up beside me, sliding his palm along my jaw until I was forced to look at him. His gaze held mine like a vow.
“Your body created a life. It’s carried weight no one sees ... and it turns me the fuck on, Selene. Every time I look at you, I want to drop to my knees.”
Heat flooded me—too much and not enough. My thighs pressed together to ease the ache.
With one hand pressed to my throat, he kissed me again, slower this time, deeper. His hand skimmed down my side, finding the edge of my panties. When he peeled them away, I heard the sound of his breath hitch.
“You’re soaked,” he rasped, spreading me open with his fingers.
My legs opened wider on instinct.
He didn’t rush. His fingertips stroked over me with maddening patience, circling, dipping, teasing—his mouth neverfar from mine, as if he didn’t want to miss a single reaction. I moaned into his mouth as he slid two fingers inside, curling just right. My hips rocked against his palm, begging for more.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he said, kissing along my jaw, licking into the corner of my mouth like he owned it. “Let me take my time.”
I nodded. Or maybe I whimpered. I wasn’t sure. Everything was blurring at the edges.
His mouth moved across my breasts and rib cage. Lower again, this time across my hip bones until he settled between my thighs. He licked me like he meant it, like he was memorizing me from the inside out. My hands threaded through his hair and I swore, breath catching hard as he sucked my clit between his lips, then eased two fingers back inside me, working in slow tandem until my orgasm broke open like a storm.
When I came, he didn’t stop. He groaned into my skin like my pleasure did something to him—like it wrecked him. He slid up my body, kissed me long and deep, and murmured, “I’m not done with you.”
