When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I want to make it mine,” she whispers. “The nest. I want to—I need to arrange it. Is that okay?”
“It’s yours.” My voice comes out rough. “Do whatever you need to do.”
She pulls back, her eyes bright with wonder. And need. The heat is building—I can smell it in her scent, richer and sweeter by the minute.
“Will you give me a few minutes?”
“Take all the time you need.” I force myself to step back, set the candle on the small shelf by the door. “I’ll be right outside.”
I leave her there, already reaching for the blankets, already starting to build. I lean against the wall in the hallway, trying to get my breathing under control. My heart is pounding. My cock is aching. And her scent is seeping through the door, getting stronger by the second.
This is really happening.
I don’t know how long I stand there. Five minutes. Ten. Long enough that the fire in the main room has burned down and I should probably add another log. But I can’t make myself move. Can’t make myself walk away from that door.
“Ben?”
Her voice. Soft. Needy.
I push the door open.
She’s transformed it. The blankets are layered just so—some underneath her, some piled around the edges like walls. Pillows arranged in a pattern that makes sense only to her. And she’s in the center of it all, wearing my flannel and nothing else, her dark hair spread across the pillows.
Her scent crashes into me. Not just lavender and citrus anymore—there’s heat underneath now.Want. It goes straight to my cock, and I have to grab the doorframe to stay upright.
“Tessa.” Her name comes out wrecked.
“I need—” She shifts, and I catch the glisten of slick on her inner thighs. My brain short-circuits. “It hurts, Ben. Everything hurts.”
I’m at the edge of the nest before I realize I’ve moved. “Do you want me to get Milo? Or Elijah? They could?—”
“No.” She reaches for me, fingers curling in my shirt, dragging me down. “I wantyou.”
“Me?”
“You.” She tugs harder. “Please. I need your hands on me. Your mouth. I need—” Her voice breaks on a whimper as another wave rolls through her. I watch her thighs press together, watch more slick escape, and my knot throbs at the base of my cock. “Please, Ben. Make it stop hurting.”
I climb into the nest. Her hands are already pulling at my shirt, and I let her—let her shove it up and off, let her palms spread hot across my chest. Her touch burns. Everything burns.
“Tell me what you want,” I manage, settling over her, bracing myself on my forearms. “Tell me exactly what you need.”
“Your mouth.” She arches up, and the movement presses her core against my thigh. Slick. So slick I can feel it soaking through my jeans. “Kiss me. Touch me. I don’t care, just…please.”
I kiss her. Not soft, not careful—I can’t be either of those things right now. I kiss her like I’m starving for it, and she opensfor me immediately, her tongue sliding against mine, her nails raking down my back.
She tastes like years of wanting and waiting, and I’m done with both.
I drag my mouth down her throat, and she moans—loud and shameless—when I find the spot where her pulse is racing. I nip at the sensitive skin there, where her scent is strongest, and she nearly bucks me off the bed.
“Ben—”
I keep moving down. Push the flannel open—my flannel, she’s wearingmyflannel—and close my mouth over her nipple.
She cries out. Her hands fist in my hair, holding me there, and I suck and lick and graze my teeth over the tight peak until she’s writhing underneath me. Her hips roll against nothing, searching for friction, and I can smell how wet she is. Can smell the slick pooling between her thighs, sweet and thick and making my head spin.
“Ben, please—” She’s begging now, tugging at my hair, trying to push me lower. “I need—I’m so empty, Iache?—”
