When he comes, it’s with my name torn from his throat and his hands still fisted in my hair. I work him through it carefully, savoring every tremor, every broken sound, until he’s boneless and panting beneath me.
I wonder if she can hear it. If the sanctuary is handing her my voice the way it gave me hers.
I’m nowhere near done.
The thing that’s awakened—this need to claim and possess—is hungrier now.
“My turn,” I say when he reaches for my clothes.
His eyes sharpen when he sees my expression. “What do you want?”
“Everything.” I reach for the drawer, grab what I need. “All of you.”
Heat flickers in his face. “Yes.”
“You sure? This changes things.”
“Good. I want it to change.”
I settle between his thighs, wanting to see his face this. I prepare him carefully, starting with one finger, watching his face for everyreaction, every flutter of his eyelashes. He’s responsive from the first touch, breath catching as I work him open slowly, methodically.
“More,” he asks after a few moments, voice already going rough around the edges.
I add a second finger, scissoring gently, and his back arches off the bed. The trust in his eyes is almost overwhelming - the way he’s completely open to me, letting me set the pace even when I can see he wants more, wants it faster.
“You sure you’re ready?” I ask when he starts rocking down against my hand.
“Gray, please,” he breathes, and I can feel how he’s trembling with want.
I add a third finger, taking my time to stretch him properly, and he makes a sound that goes straight through me. His thigh trembles under my free hand as I work him open, watching the way his pupils dilate, the way his breathing goes shallow and quick.
“That’s it,” I murmur, feeling the way his body yields to me. “Just let me take care of you.”
When I finally press into him, we both go very still. He takes me inch by inch, breathing carefully through the stretch, his hands gripping my shoulders like he’s anchoring himself to me. The connection is intense, intimate in a way that goes beyond just physical. Finally I’m fully seated and we’re both holding our breath like we’re afraid to break the moment.
“Okay?” I ask, voice strained with the effort of holding still when every instinct wants me to move.
“More than okay,” he breathes, eyes dark and trusting. Then he rocks his hips up to meet me and whatever control I had left evaporates completely.
I set a rhythm that’s careful but insistent, deep enough that he feels every stroke, slow enough that we both feel every point of connection. He meets me thrust for thrust, his body opening for me like this is what he was made for, like we’ve been building toward this moment for years. The sounds he makes are different now—deeper, more vulnerable, like I’m touching places in him that no one else has ever reached.
This isn’t about Bree anymore. Hasn’t been since the moment I backed him against the wall. This is about the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. About the way he gives me his complete surrender without question or hesitation. About the way something deep in me recognizes something deep in him and claims it without apology.
“Show me,” I murmur against his neck, not even sure what I’m asking for.
But he knows. He gives me everything—his body arching beneath mine, his submission takes my breath away. When he comes again, it’s with my name torn from his throat and his nails digging into my shoulders.
I follow him over a few thrusts later, burying my face in his neck as everything goes white-hot and perfect, like coming home to something I didn’t know I’d been missing.
After, I make myself move even though every instinct wants to stay buried in him. I wipe us both down with careful hands, press a glass of water into his palm because it’s the only way I can touch him gentlyright now without starting this all over again. My protective instincts are sharper now, more focused, like they’ve been honed to a fine edge. When I try to give him space to process what just happened, he pulls me back down beside him.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he says, voice soft but certain.
I settle against him, let him arrange us how he wants. The possessive thing in my chest has gone quiet, satisfied for now. It’s patient, certain this is just the beginning.
“Definitely need a new headboard,” he says after a while, flexing his fingers where he gripped the wood.
I laugh, surprised by how easy it feels. “We’ll make Rhett do it. Add it to his list.”
