The door slams shut behind us, muffling their voices, leaving only the sound of her quick breathing in the dim light.
The moment her feet touch the ground, her hands are in my hair, tugging hard, her mouth crashing back into mine. I stumble with her until the backs of my knees hit the bed. She pushes me down, straddling me, her ponytail falling loose, strands tumbling around her face.
“God, I missed you,” she breathes, teeth sinking into my bottom lip before sucking it until I groan.
I grip her hips, dragging her down against me, grinding until the hard ache in my jeans lines up with her heat. Even through denim, the friction makes us both shiver like live current.
Her lips tear from mine, her eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. She lifts a shaky hand, slips my glasses off, and sets them carefully on the nightstand as if they’re fragile. Then she fixes me with a gaze that makes my stomach twist.
“Take your shirt off. Now.”
The way she says it—command and plea at once—shoots fire straight through me. I rip it off in one quick motion, the shirt hitting the floor.
Her breath catches. Her eyes sweep across my chest, my shoulders, the new lines etched from months of healing and work. Hunger burns in her gaze, but there’s something softer too. Awe.
“Fuck, you look...” she whispers, shaking her head. “Mine.”
My hand curls under her chin, forcing her to look at me. “I’ve always been yours.”
Before she can answer, I flip her onto her back. She gasps, half laughing, half surprised, but it melts into a needy moan as I pin her wrists above her head and drag my mouth down her neck.
“You don’t know how many nights I thought about this,” I growl against her throat, biting just enough to make her arch. “You, writhing under me, aching for more.”
Her shirt—my shirt—slides up, bunching beneath her ribs. The lilac lace beneath has me groaning against her chest.
“You wore this for me?” I mutter, mouthing at the swell of her breasts.
Her grin flickers through panting lips. “Maybe I wore it because I knew you’d rip it off.”
“I always said you’re the smartest girl in the galaxy,” I rasp, tugging at the lace with my teeth until one nipple spills free. My tongue circles it slowly, cruelly slow, before I suck hard.
Her cry is ragged, desperate. “Cooper—”
“Patience,” I murmur against her, biting lightly until she trembles. “I’m going to make you lose your mind before I let you fall apart.”
She writhes, thighs pressing together, chasing friction. I trail kisses down her stomach, licking the dip of her navel, until I reach ink on her side. My lips brush it, soft, reverent.
“Ninety-five with the lightning bolt?” I whisper.
Nova nods, breath uneven. “It’s Lightning McQueen’s number. Yours. So I always have you with me.”
The words split me wide. I glance up—hair a mess, eyes hazy with lust and love—and something raw crashes through me.
“You got a tattoo for me? Why?” My voice cracks low, rough.
Her hips lift, desperate. “I’d carve you into my skin if it meant you’d stay with me forever.”
Fuck. I drag her shorts and panties down slow, exposing her inch by inch, until she’s bare and trembling.
“God, look at you,” I murmur, spreading her thighs slowly, deliberately. “So wet already... missed this cock that much, huh?”
She chuckles, breathy and teasing, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Okay, Cooper... where did you learn to talk dirty like that? Did Rora make you read one of her new cowboy romances or something?”
I press my mouth to the curve of her neck, letting my teeth graze just enough to make her shiver.
“Nope. Pure improvisation,” I murmur with a low laugh. “I thought it might turn you on... though I probably just looked like an idiot.”
Her laugh is soft but strained, a mixture of amusement and anticipation. “Improvisation, huh? Trust me—you’re no idiot. You’re dangerously good at this. I liked it... maybe too much.”
