I slide into his lap, straddling him. The feel of him under me is too much and not enough. His mouth moves to my throat, my jaw, my collarbone. Every part of me is a live wire.
He breaks the kiss long enough to whisper, “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Tell me you still want me.”
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“Always.”
I slide his zip-up down his arms, watching the way it pulls over his shoulders. I kiss his chest as it’s exposed, my mouth lingering over the small dip between his collarbones. My hands roam, slow and exploratory, memorizing the feel of his skin.
His breath catches when I drag my fingertips down his stomach. I feel the way his muscles twitch under my touch.
“You’re shaking,” I whisper, pressing my lips against the line of his jaw.
“I know,” he whispers back. “I’m scared this isn’t real.”
My heart clenches.
I kiss his throat. The corner of his mouth. The hollow of his neck. I whisper the only truth I can say right now—one that scares me and comforts me in equal measure.
“You’re mine,” I murmur against his skin.
His hands clutch my hips like I’m the last thing keeping him grounded. “Say it again,” he rasps.
I look him in the eye and say it without blinking. “You’re mine.”
When I finally sink onto him, he lets out a choked, guttural breath—like he’s been holding it back for days.
He feels impossibly deep. My body stretches, clenches, melts around him. His hands grip my hips like if he lets go, he’ll unravel completely. His eyes never leave mine, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.
We don’t move at first. Just stay like that—joined.
My fingers find the planes of his chest, the rapid thump of his heart beneath my palm. His skin is warm and taut and so familiar, it aches. I roll my hips the tiniest bit, and his whole body shudders beneath me.
“Fuck, Cove,” he groans, his voice raw. “You feel like… everything.”
I start to move. Slow at first. Letting him fill me, stretch me, rock into every sensitive spot with each measured glide of my hips. The friction is deep, intense, and maddeningly slow—like we’re trying to make this last forever.
His forehead presses to mine, slick with sweat. Our breaths mix, noses brush, and neither of us close our eyes. Wewatcheach other. Every twitch. Every gasp. Every damn heartbeat.
My hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, fingers sinking into the thick strands of his hair. I ride him with slow, deliberate rolls—each one dragging a new sound from the back of his throat. His hips lift to meet mine in a messy rhythm we make together.
The tension coils tighter and tighter inside me, sparking at the base of my spine and spreading like wildfire through my limbs. I can feel it building in him too—in the way he grips me harder, the way his jaw clenches, the way he whispers, “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
My orgasm crashes into me like a wave, shattering me from the inside out. My whole body clenches around him, pleasure tearing through me with raw, dizzying intensity. I cry out his name, burying my face in his neck as I come undone above him.
He follows with a broken groan and a hard thrust, his body jerking beneath me, breath catching in his throat. He wraps his arms around me, holding me to his chest as the last shudders roll through him.
We stay like that—entwined, still shaking, still panting. His hands stroke my back in slow, reverent lines. I can feel him softening inside me, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away.
I don’t want him to.
“I don’t feel shame,” I whisper into the quiet, my lips brushing his damp skin. “I feel… chosen.”
His breath hitches again, this time not from arousal, but emotion. I feel it in the way he hugs me tighter. The way his fingers tremble at the curve of my spine. Like my words undid something in him too.
