God.
Her sweatpants are next. I tug them down her hips, my knuckles brushing the delicate lines of her thighs. She lifts her hips to help me, trusting, open, wanting. When she’s finally bare beneath me, I swear the world tilts.
“Come here,” she whispers, pulling me down with her. She slides her hands up my back, slow and deliberate, mapping the shape of me like she’s wanted to for months.
Then I take her hands in mine, threading our fingers together.
Her breath hitches as I slowly guide her wrists above her head, our fingers interlacing, palms pressing together. Her pulse flutters wildly beneath my thumbs.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” I whisper against her mouth.
“Yes.”
“Have I told you how much my body craves to be inside yours?” My hard length runs along her opening.
A broken little exhale. “Yes, Miles.”
I kiss her again—deep, searching, full of everything I’ve held back for far too long. Her legs wrap around my hips, her body lifting to meet mine with a need that steals the breath from my lungs.
I move against her slowly at first—just the tease of contact, the promise of what’s coming—and she lets out a quiet, needy sound that I feel everywhere. She arches, gasping, and I press my forehead to hers, trying not to lose myself completely.
“Miranda…” My voice cracks. “I want you. I will always want you.”
Her thighs tighten around me. “Then take me.”
I catch her mouth with mine again, my hips sinking into hers in a slow, devastating slide of heat and closeness that lights every nerve in my body. Her fingers tighten around mine, our hands still locked together above her head as I move with her—deep, rhythmic. Pushing in harder with each thrust.
Her soft moans melt into my mouth. My own breath stumbles out against her lips. Our bodies find a rhythm instantly—urgent, desperate, perfectly matched—as if months of longing have finally found their release.
I kiss her through every movement, every gasp, every tremble, kissing her until I’m not sure where she ends and I begin.
And when her voice breaks on my name—shaking, pleading, beautiful—I know with absolute certainty that I’ll never want anyone the way I want her.
“I just need you,” I groan, slamming into her again, needing to be deeper.
“You have me,” she breathes, her voice shaking with each thrust.
God, the sensation. I’ll never get enough of this—of her.
Her leg hooks tighter around my waist, granting me access to the deepest parts of her, and I drive into her relentlessly. It’s almost too much—too exquisite—my body strung tight with pleasure.
In broken, strained whispers that fall apart between thrusts, I hear myself chant against her mouth, “I… need… you… fuck… yes… so… good.”
Our ragged breathing rises and falls in wild sync.
The sharp sound of our bodies meeting fills the room, echoing off the walls. My eyes fall shut, my lips brushing hers, drinking in everything—her heat, her scent, the way her body wraps around mine like she’s always been meant to hold me this way.
It’s intoxicating.
The noises she makes.
The trembling pull of her body.
All of it. Too good. Too much.
Her orgasm arrives all at once—fast, hard, undeniable. She cries out and bites down on my shoulder as her body seizes around me, shaking with raw ecstasy. The sensation of her inner walls pulsing around me is devastatingly perfect. Consuming.
I thrust deeper, helpless against the tightening coil of pleasure ripping through me. My body trembles. A guttural, almost pained grunt tears from my throat as my release explodes inside her, shuddering through every inch of me.
