“Only if you promise to put me back together,” I whisper.
He smiles softly. “That’s the whole fuckin’ point.”
He shifts us gently, lays me back against the pillows, and when I reach for him, he slips inside me with one slow, seamless stroke. My breath catches. He groans, hands braced on either side of me, eyes fluttering shut.
The sensation is too much. The sight of him is almost holy. He stays still for a beat, buried deep, his forehead pressed to mine.
When he kisses me again, slow and deep and dizzying, I start to move. I want to be on top. I’ve never done that before, not really. I’ve always let the man lead, let him take what he wanted until it was over. But this time, I want to know what it feels like to choose.
It’s like he knows that about me. He catches my hips and rolls us, settles me over him. My thighs bracket his, hands splayed on his chest as I start to ride. His head falls back with a raw sound, a low, choked-off moan that makes me clench around him.
“God, look at you,” he pants. “Prettiest fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen.”
I smile through the burn, through the ache and stretch and want. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, but I think he knows that, too. And he doesn’t laugh or correct me. He watches, gaze warm and hungry, like he’d follow me anywhere.
He grips my hips, then slides one hand to my backside, guiding me, helping me find the rhythm that makes me gasp. I feel every inch of him—how deep he is, how perfectly we fit. When I falter, he brings my hands to my own breasts, encourages me to touch myself, to see myself the way he sees me.
“You’re in charge, baby,” he says roughly. “Claim me.”
I ride him until my legs shake, until I’m breathless and blushed and soaking. When I come, it’s with a helpless cry, and he follows with a groan, hips jerking while he spills inside.
I collapse against his chest, and he holds me close. We stay like that, tangled and quiet, his arms around me, his cock still thick and twitching inside.
“I like you begging,” I murmur into his collarbone. “Makes it easier to forgive you.”
He laughs, hoarse and disbelieving. “I wasn’t begging.”
“You definitely were.”
“You were the one whimpering and shaking.”
He shifts beneath me, and I feel him growing hard again.
I lift my head and arch a brow. “Already?”
“You’ve really got no idea how much I needed this. Needed you.”
“Prove it.”
He flips me onto my stomach, hikes my hips up, and slides back in like he never left.
I’m still aching from the first time—sore in that delicious, swollen way that makes me tremble as he fills me again, thick and hot and so deep it feels like he could live there.
Wouldn’t that be something? If we could stay like this, two bodies held in a single breath.
I pulse around him, greedy and stretched, and all I can think isdon’t stop, don’t leave, don’t ever let me go. But all I can do is gasp and writhe beneath him.
His hand curls around my throat. The other anchors my hip. It’s slow and deep and adoring. It’s exactly the way I didn’t know I needed to be touched. Exactly the way I want to be loved.
His breath stutters near my ear. “God, Elsie. You feel like home.”
“So do you.”
Every movement of his hips is a promise. Every thrust tells me to stay. And I do. I take all of him, braced and burning, fingers twisted in the sheets. This time, I don’t just give him my body for a night.
I promise him everything. Forever.
34
