This—being with her—it was like coming home. A thought that was both shocking and humbling at the same time.
"Devon," she breathed, lifting her head, dark eyes sparkling in the morning light. Her voice, so sultry and thick with lust. The echo of his name on her lips, the way she bit her lower lip, the exposed, tantalizing stretch of her neck—everything came together in a mesmerizing symphony of temptation.
His eyes traced every contour, every line, every mark. He followed the path of his touch and watched as his fingers skimmed over the material of her underwear. The play of her body beneath his touch demanded to be explored.
She was perfect. Each inch of her was a new revelation. Each soft gasp echoed his desire. He reveled in the way she moved, the way she held her breath when he touched her in a place sheliked, the soft moans she didn't bother to stifle. Every reaction was an entry in her guidebook, directing his hands and mouth to the places that delighted her most.
Something shifted in his chest—more like cracked open. She was different. They were different—together.
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she stilled, her gaze holding his as if he were the roots and she was the ground holding him in place.
She was exquisite, a masterpiece of curves and hollows that called to him.
With a growl, he descended on her, his lips finding her bare breast, his tongue tracing the tightened nipple. She clung tighter to him, her fingers threading through his hair as he tasted her, savored her.
His clothing quickly became a barrier, an annoying impediment to the closeness they both craved. Her fingers tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, echoing his own urgency. He helped her, kicking them and his underwear aside before joining her back on the bed.
Her hands roamed across his chest, over his abdomen, tracing every muscle that flexed beneath her touch. Her touch brought him to life, each caress as potent as a lightning strike, leaving tingling pulsating arcs across his skin.
When she finally grasped him, his skin was so sensitive, so hungry for her touch, the sensation shocked him. He groaned against her neck, his body jerking in response.
"Emery," he rasped against the shell of her ear, his voice hoarse with desire. Her name tumbled like a secret confession from his lips, filled with a reverence he hadn't known he was capable of.
With his heart pounding against his ribcage like a wild beast cornered, he was on the brink, a hundred demands crowding at the tip of his tongue—be gentle, be wild, be everything that he'dbeen aching for. But the words stuck in his throat as he lost himself in her touch, in the overpowering sensations that she drew from within him.
He shifted, bringing his weight onto one arm to free his other hand. His fingers found her thigh, coaxing her to wrap it around his waist as he pressed himself against her. His body was a live wire, buzzing with pent-up tension, poised at the apex of pleasure and patience.
Her fingernails scraped down his chest, leaving trails of fire on his skin, bringing him back to the moment. He reached for her other thigh, guiding it to join its mate around his hips. The position brought their bodies even closer, their centers aligning in a way that elicited a gasp.
With a deep intake of breath, Devon nuzzled the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. The sweet, intoxicating aroma was becoming as necessary as air.
Emery's grip on him tightened, her nails digging into his back in a delicious sting. The sensation was sharp, full of promise, leaving his senses humming with anticipation.
Threading her fingers in his hair, she tugged him down for another searing kiss. He reveled in the warmth of her lips against his, the feel of her body undulating beneath him, the sound of her soft moans mingling with his own. The kindling spark of desire flared into a full-blown firestorm, consuming him from the inside out.
He eased into her, holding his breath, trying to maintain control, but that seemed like it was no longer possible.
Her hands clung to his back, her nails digging into his flesh, anchoring them together. The bite of pain mixed with pleasure, sharp and sweet, and the intensity of it—her grip, her body, the way she moved with him—burned through every nerve ending until nothing existed but this, nothing existed but her.
When she finally crumbled beneath him, her climax washing over them both in a wave of intense, breathtaking pleasure, he held her tight. Her name spilled from his lips like a prayer even as her soft cries filled the room. Her body went limp beneath his, her chest heaving, her muscles still shivering with aftershocks.
He stroked her hair, reveling in the silkiness beneath his fingers. He kissed her forehead, the side of her neck, the corner of her mouth. He tasted salt and sweat on her skin, breathing her in like she was oxygen he'd been starving for his entire life. And just like that, he knew—he was wrecked. Ruined. Every other woman, every carefully constructed wall, every promise he'd made himself about staying free—gone. She'd branded herself on him, body and soul, and there was no coming back from this. His skin tingled where it touched against hers. He’d never felt so alive, so complete, so utterly consumed by another person. The depth of his feelings was overwhelming, and yet he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Her eyes fluttered open after a moment, meeting his with a calmness he hadn’t expected. Breathless, satisfied, a weak smile played across her lips. She looked at him with a newfound intimacy, an understanding that bound them closer together. Her hand found his, their fingers intertwining and squeezing gently.
“Wow,” she said softly, her gaze still locked with his.
He echoed the word, a soft rumble from deep within his chest. Words were inadequate, but “wow” encompassed it, somehow.
He rolled to his side, keeping her close, pulling the covers over the bodies.
Emery's head rested on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. The room was fully light now, Sunday morning sounds filtering in from outside—birds singing,the distant rumble of a tractor, the peaceful rhythm of a vineyard at rest.
“Are we crazy?” Emery asked quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this? Us?”
