After everything we'd been through—a drugged meeting, a marriage of convenience, attacks and betrayals and healing—this moment felt like the true beginning.
Connor looked down at me, moonlight silvering the tears on his cheeks, and I held my breath, waiting.
Before Connor could respond, I rose smoothly to my feet in a motion that still felt miraculous. The look of wonder on his face as I stood at my full height without assistance sent a surge of power through me unlike anything I'd felt in the boardroom.
I stepped forward and pushed him back against the mattress, our bodies pressing together with delicious friction that made my newly awakened nerves sing with pleasure.
"Starting with this..." I whispered against his neck, my lips tracing the pulse point that fluttered wildly beneath his skin.
Connor's hands came up to grip my shoulders, his fingers digging into muscle as if to confirm I was really standing, really holding him with nothing but my own strength. The wonder in his eyes quickly darkened to heat as I pressed my advantage.
I used my newly healed body to worship his, my hands sliding beneath his shirt to feel the warm skin beneath. With deliberate slowness, I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of his chest.
My fingers traced the contours I'd memorized by touch but never seen from this angle, standing above him, fully in control of my movements.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," I murmured, bending to press my lips to his collarbone, then lower to his chest.
His breath hitched as I continued my exploration, stripping away his shirt completely before moving to his belt. The buckle yielded easily to my fingers, and I tugged it free with a satisfying metallic hiss.
Connor lifted his hips to help as I slid his pants down, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs that did little to hide his arousal.
"My turn," he insisted, reaching for my shirt buttons with fingers that trembled slightly. I let him undress me, standing still as he revealed my chest, then my stomach, then pushed the shirt from my shoulders entirely.
His hands explored my body with reverent curiosity, tracing muscles that had been strengthened during my recovery. When his fingers found the scars on my lower back—evidence of the surgeries that had ultimately led to this miracle—he leaned forward to press his lips against them.
"Beautiful," he whispered against my skin, and I had to close my eyes against the sudden burn of emotion.
I stepped out of my own pants, letting them pool at my feet before kicking them aside. Standing naked before him, fully aroused and unashamed, I felt a surge of gratitude that threatened to overwhelm me.
Three years in that chair, believing I would never experience this again—the simple joy of standing naked with a lover, of having full sensation and control of my body.
Connor's eyes traveled down my body, lingering on the evidence of my desire for him. His lips curved into a smile that was equal parts tender and wicked.
"Well, that part definitely works," he teased, reaching for me.
I caught his wrist, using my newly regained strength to pull him up from the bed. In one fluid motion, I turned us so his back was against the wall, my body pinning him there. The gasp that escaped him was pure surprise and arousal.
"I've waited months to do this," I growled against his ear, my hands sliding down to cup his ass, lifting him slightly. "To take you like this, standing, supporting your weight entirely."
His legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, ankles crossing at the small of my back as he adjusted to this new position. The feeling of his hard cock pressed against my stomach, of his weight supported entirely by my recovered strength, was intoxicating.
I kissed him then—not the careful, controlled kisses we'd shared before, but something wild and claiming. My tongue invaded his mouth, exploring, tasting, possessing. His moan vibrated against my lips as he surrendered to the onslaught, his fingers tangling in my hair to pull me closer.
"Lube," he gasped when we finally broke for air. "In the—"
"I know where it is," I assured him, carrying him to the bedside table without releasing him from my arms.
The sensation of walking while carrying him, of feeling his weight shift against me with each step, was its own pleasure—a testament to my recovery that felt like a victory against everything that had tried to destroy us both.
I set him down long enough to retrieve the bottle from the drawer, then immediately pulled him back against me. His skin was hot against mine, slick with the beginnings of sweat, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.
"Turn around," I instructed, my voice dropping to a register I barely recognized—rough with desire and command.
Connor complied immediately, bracing his hands against the wall, his back a perfect arch as he positioned himself for me. The moonlight silvered his skin, turning the curve of his spine and the roundness of his ass into a study in light and shadow that would have made a Renaissance sculptor weep.
I prepared him with careful fingers, watching as he pressed back against my hand, seeking more, his quiet moans driving me to the edge of my control.
When he was ready—when we were both beyond ready—I positioned myself behind him.
