My heart flutters. “I missed you too.” I can’t stop trailing my fingers over him, touching, needing connection. “Thank you for today. I felt like me again.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath since our argument and when he turns to me, his gaze is tender and possessive, so intense he looks starving for me. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
Jensen kisses me, his fingers threading into my hair. His tongue slides past my lips, a low, hungry sound vibrating in the back of his throat. It’s like he’s been waiting for this moment all day, and he wasn’t sure if I would give it to him.
How could I ever deny this? I love when he’s touching me. I need it just as much as he does.
I fist my fingers into his shirt as he kisses that spot under my ear that makes my breath hitch. Every touch against my skin is whispered devotion, like he’s trying to burn this moment into his memory in case it’s taken from him.
He lets out a guttural sound, low in his throat, pressing my spine against the window, heat and raw hunger blazing in his eyes as he takes what he needs.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
“You know I am.”
“I need the words, beautiful.”
I grab his face between my hands. “I never stopped being yours.”
He lifts me into his arms, and instinctively my legs wrap around his waist before our mouths fuse together. Our tongues tease and stroke before retreating and repeating. It’s an elaborate dance between husband and wife, chasing, needing.
Claiming.
Owning.
I don’t know how we get into the bedroom, but when he lowers me onto the mattress, I instinctively pull him down on top of me. Our mouths find each other’s again, and my back arches, trying to press against him, to soothe the ache between my thighs.
“Pants off,” he rasps, already undoing his belt. He shoves his pants down just enough to free himself as I lift my hips and slip my leggings and panties down my thighs.
His eyes are blazing hot when they meet mine. He’s so fucking gone for me I can barely breathe.
“You’re so beautiful.”
I melt. He truly makes me believe I am. That I’m the only woman he’s ever needed or wanted.
I whimper as he trails his fingers through my wetness before he puts me on my side and moves in behind me. His arm bandsaround my stomach, holding me steady, and I feel him poised at my entrance. I try to spread my legs, but I can barely part them with my leggings around my knees.
“Jensen. Please.” I don’t care if I sound desperate. I am. There’s a persistent ache inside me that I need him to fill.
“That’s it, good girl. Beg for me.”
“Please.”
He thrusts into my slick heat. I gasp, my back arching. My pussy stretches around his solid shaft and I let out a pitiful, needy sound that makes him growl.
“This is the only place I need to be, Mia. Inside your pretty body, taking what’s mine.”
He slams into me, deep and savage. The slap of our bodies as they meet is loud and every inch of me vibrates with each punishing stroke he delivers.
I can’t breathe, can’t think about anything but the heavy, persistent stab of him from behind. He’s so deep it feels like he’s in my chest, and every inch of me is buzzing, tuned to the rhythm of him unraveling me piece by piece. My breath quickens, and he moves like he’s trying to find a way to join us together permanently.
“Jensen—” His name tears out of me like a warning shot, but it’s too late.
It hits me like a lit fuse. The slow burn of need at first, followed by a warm coil that spreads low in my belly before it tightens and builds.
My breath stutters, my vision blurs, and my body jerks as a cry rips out of me, raw and frantic.
I dig my nails into the arm still wrapped around my waist, holding me in place as I shatter around him.
