She tastes like heat and want.
Her hips buck, a startled, needy movement. I hold her steady, hands firm on her thighs—not pinning, just anchoring. Grounding her while I unravel her. My cock is so hard it aches, throbbing with the need to be inside her, but this is for her.
“Yes,” she chokes out, head falling back into the pillow. “Declan, yes.”
I take my time. I use my tongue, my lips, listening to the way her breath catches, learning the rhythm of her pleasure. Every sound she makes feeds the hunger in my blood, but I keep it leashed. This isn't about taking. It’s about giving her everything I have.
She unravels beautifully, shattering against my mouth with a cry she tries to muffle with her hand. I gently pull her wrist away, lacing our fingers together, letting her scream my name into the quiet room.
When she finally stills, boneless and panting, I crawl back up her body. Her eyes are glassy, her lips swollen. She looks wrecked in the best possible way.
“My turn,” she whispers, hand sliding down my chest, bold and shaking.
I groan, forehead dropping to hers. “Talia.”
“I want you inside me,” she says. Clear. Certain.
I roll off long enough to yank open the drawer of my nightstand.
Her laughter is breathless. “Prepared, are we?”
“Have you seen you?” I mutter, tearing open the wrapper. “Of course I’m prepared.”
Her hand closes over mine, stopping me for a beat. Thumb brushing my wrist. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
It’s not about the latex. It’s about the care. The choice.
I kiss her knuckles, then take care of the rest.
I settle back between her legs. She reaches for me, hand wrapping around my cock, guiding me. The touch nearly ends me right there.
“Look at me,” I rasp.
Her eyes lock on mine.
I push into her. Slow. Controlled. Watching her face for any sign of hesitation, any shadow of the past.
There is none. Only heat. Only her.
She gasps as I fill her completely, body stretching to accommodate the full length of me, tight and perfect, a sweet, unbearable pressure.
“You feel…” I can’t even finish the sentence, the raw sensation is too overwhelming, too much after all this time.
“Home,” she finishes for me, breath hitching, her fingers already kneading the muscles in my back.
I set a rhythm—slow, deep, relentless, driving in until the headboard taps a quiet beat against the wall. My hands slide under her, cupping her ass and lifting her hips to meet me, forcing the contact to be absolute. Every thrust is a claim. Every slide is a promise. I am here. I am yours. We survived.
“Declan…” she breathes, nails digging crescent moons into my shoulders.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, my hips rolling deeper, grinding our bodies together. “I’ve got you.”
The friction builds, hot and sharp, igniting a need that has been banked for too long. I watch her come undone again, her face flushed crimson, her body arching and tightening around me, the powerful muscles clenching, milking me until I can’t hold back anymore. I let go, groaning her name like a desperate prayer, pouring myself into her, emptying every last drop, burying myself in the only place that has ever felt safe.
We collapse together, our chests heaving, hearts hammering against each other’s ribs like they’re trying to sync up permanently.
I manage to extract myself just enough to grab the condom, tying a quick knot before tossing it across the room and into the waste bin near the dresser.
Then I roll fully to the side, taking her weight with me, keeping our bodies tangled and slick with sweat. I press a kiss to her damp temple, then her cheek, then her mouth, a slow, possessive claiming.
