She swallows, eyes burning into mine. “Yes.”
That one word slices straight through the noise in my head.
I hook my fingers in the waistband and drag the cotton down her legs, slow on purpose, revealing her completely. The sight of her—wet and pink and open for me—nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, then higher on her inner thigh. “So fucking beautiful.”
Her thighs tremble as I move up, alternating gentle kisses with sharp little nips. When I reach the slick heat of her, I pause, breath ghosting over her most sensitive skin.
“Oh,” she whispers, the word trembling.
I drag my tongue through her folds in one long, slow stroke. She tastes like salt and musk and everything uniquely Meredith, and I groan at the taste of her on my tongue.
Her hips jerk at the contact, a broken sound catching in her throat. I grip her thighs, holding her open as I work my tongue over her—circling her entrance, teasing, then sliding up to her clit, testing what makes her gasp and what makes her try to swallow the sounds back down.
“God, Nick,” she pants, one hand tangling in my hair, the other fisting in the sheets. “That feels—”
Her words snap off in a choked cry when I wrap my lips around her clit and suck, slow but sure. I slide a finger inside her, then another, curling until I find that spot that makes her whole body jolt.
The effect is instant. Her back bows off the mattress, thighs tightening around my head, but she doesn’t push me away. She’s shaking, caught somewhere between holding on and giving in, and I can feel the war happening in her body.
That small voice reminds me I don’t deserve this—her like this, open and unraveling on my tongue after everything I’ve done—but I’m too far gone to step back. If she’s going to fall apart, I want it to be here. With me. Safe, even if she doesn’t forgive me for a long damn time.
“Breathe,” I murmur against her, dragging my mouth over her again, my fingers stroking that spot inside her in steady rhythm. “Just feel it.”
She trembles beneath me, fingers digging into my scalp.
“Oh, God—!”
Her whole body goes tight, every muscle strung sharp, and then she breaks. She cries out my name—my full name, the real one—as her inner walls clamp around my fingers, pulsing with her release. I keep my pace, working her through every wave until the tension bleeds out of her and her legs go weak, her hand sliding from my hair to the mattress.
Only then do I ease up, pressing one last, reverent kiss to her inner thigh before crawling back up her body. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed, lips parted as she drags air back into her lungs. She looks wrecked and unfairly pretty.
“Hi,” I murmur, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.
A lazy, dazed smile curves her mouth. “Hi.”
I shift onto my side and pull her into me, needing her close more than I need air. My cock is a constant, throbbing ache behind my zipper, but for a second I let myself pretend this is enough — her breathing against my chest, her leg hooked over mine, the Christmas lights throwing soft color over our tangled bodies.
It isn’t enough. It never has been. But I’d stay right here if she asked.
Her fingers drift down my stomach, tracing the line of my abs. They pause at my waistband, hesitating for just a beat before sliding lower, cupping me through my pants.
“You said you’ve wanted this for ten years,” she says quietly, eyes lifting to meet mine. There’s no haze now, no confusion, just heat and something rawer, more dangerous. “Show me how badly, Nick.”
The way she says my name makes my pulse stutter.
“If we stop here, I’ll live,” I tell her, because I have to give her that, even if it kills me.
Her thumb presses into the button of my jeans. “You already dragged me out here,” she whispers. “Now finish what you started.”
That goes straight through my ribs.
Her hands fumble with my button and zipper. I help her, shoving my pants and boxers down and kicking them off the bed until I’m as naked as she is. The air hits my skin, cool and sharp, and then her gaze is on me, on all of me.
She swallows, taking in the scars, the hard lines of muscle, the way I’m so hard for her. Her eyes flick to the pale line along my ribs again, fingers ghosting toward it. I catch her hand before she can ask and bring her knuckles to my mouth, kissing them once.
Her breath shudders out of her, and whatever question she had dies on her tongue.
