I worked her pants down her legs, then removed my own, and as I settled between her thighs, I had to stop myself from rushing. She was warm and wet and ready for me, and when I finally sank my cock into her heat—inch by inch, giving her time to adjust—we both went still.
The world narrowed to this. Her body wrapped around mine. Her heartbeat pressed against my chest. Just breathing. Just feeling.
“You’re here,” she whispered.
“I’m here.”
I moved slowly at first, drawing it out, watching her face in the darkness. Her eyes fluttered closed, lips parting on a softmoan. I dropped my forehead to hers, breathing her in, letting the reality of her wash over me.
Alive. Safe.Mine.
She raked her nails down my back, and I picked up the pace, driving deeper. She wrapped her legs around my waist, changing the angle, and I felt her walls clench around me.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice was ragged. “Please don’t stop.”
I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to. I was lost in her—the sounds she made, the way her body moved with mine, the heat building between us. When she came, it was with my name on her lips, her whole body arching off the mattress. I followed seconds later, burying myself deep and letting go.
We lay tangled together afterward, sweat cooling on our skin, hearts pounding in unison.
“You’re here,” she said again, softer now.
“I’m here.”
We didn’t let go of each other for the rest of the night. I shifted onto my back, and she followed, draping herself across me like she was afraid I’d disappear if she wasn’t touching me. Her cheek pressed against my chest, her arm wrapped around my waist, one leg slotted between mine.
I pressed my face into her hair, breathed her in, and let my eyes close. For the first time in weeks, the darkness behind my eyelids felt safe.
Four days later, I watched her get ready in my bathroom.
She’d borrowed one of my shirts—a blue flannel this time—and the hem brushed her thighs as she towel-dried her hair. Still wet from the shower, darkened to honey-gold and curling at the ends.
We hadn’t left the house in three days. Phone silenced. Door locked. Nothing but each other.
At the compound, we’d had one night without cameras. Here, there was nothing. No threat. No ticking clock. We could finally let go completely.
And we had. Over and over again.
I’d woken that first morning with her body still wrapped around mine, leg thrown over my hip, face pressed into my neck. When she’d stirred and felt my cock already hard against her, she’d reached down without a word and guided me inside her.
We’d moved together slowly, lazily, half asleep and unhurried. She’d risen above me at some point, hands braced on my chest, riding me with her eyes closed and her head thrown back. I’d watched the morning light play across her skin, memorizing every detail—the way her nipples tightened to hard peaks, the flutter of her lashes, the way her lips parted when she got close, the soft sounds she made when I reached between us and stroked her clit exactly like she needed it to come.
God, I loved this woman. I always had, even when I’d been idiot enough to leave her.
We ate when we remembered to—whatever was in my fridge, which wasn’t much after six weeks undercover. Crackers. Half a jar of peanut butter. When that ran out, I’d made a quick run into town for supplies, breaking every speed limit to get back to her.
The second day, I’d explored her body properly. Taken my time mapping every inch of her, learning what had changed and what had stayed the same.
The scars on her legs made me slow down.
I’d seen them at the cabin, traced them in stolen moments while danger pressed in on all sides. But here, with time and safety, I could give them the attention they deserved. She still tensed when I pushed up her borrowed T-shirt—that instinct tohide hadn’t gone away yet. Maybe it never would completely. But I was determined to replace every bad memory with something better.
“You don’t have to—” she’d started, trying to close her legs, to hide.
I’d held them open gently. “I want to see all of you, Kitten. Every part.”
I’d traced each scar with my fingers, feeling the texture of the damaged skin, imagining the terror she must have felt. Then I’d followed the same path with my mouth, pressing kisses to every mark until she stopped tensing. Until her fingers relaxed in my hair and her breathing changed from anxious to aroused.
By the time I’d worked my way up to the inside of her thigh, she was trembling for an entirely different reason.
