I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "Your bedroom?"
"If that's what you want." His thumb brushes across my jaw, the touch gentle despite the hunger visible in his expression.
"That's what I want." I stand, pulling him up with me. "I want to move forward. With you."
We move inside together, Duke following at our heels. When we reach Devlin's bedroom, Duke pads in behind us and immediately moves to his bed on the floor at the foot of the bed, circling twice before settling with a contented sigh. Devlin closes the door behind us.
His bedroom surprises me. The organization is pure military, everything in its place, but the bed is an unexpected contrast. A large antique frame, dark wood with carved details, the kind of piece someone chose because they loved it, not because it was functional. Soft bedding that looks comfortable, not just practical. It's a glimpse of the man underneath the soldier, someone who values comfort and beauty even if he doesn't advertise it.
His hand is warm in mine, and when he turns to face me, there's nothing controlled about the way he looks at me.
His palms frame my face, tilting it up to his. "You're sure about this?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." I slide my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
His mouth crashes against mine, and there's nothing hesitant about it. This kiss is all heat and hunger, his tongue sliding against mine as his hands grip my waist. He takes his time exploring, tasting, learning what makes me gasp. His palms slide down my sides, thumbs brushing the bare skin where my sleep shirt has ridden up. Everywhere he touches, heat blooms.
I tug at his shirt, needing skin. He breaks the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, and I take a moment to appreciate what's in front of me. Broad shoulders, definedmuscles, dog tags resting against tanned skin. But it's the scars that catch my attention. Evidence of a life lived dangerously.
I trace one with my fingertip, a long pale line across his ribs. "What's this from?"
"Training accident." His muscles tense under my touch. "Few years back."
He walks me backward toward the bed, kissing me between steps. When the back of my knees hit the mattress, I sit, and he follows me down, covering my body with his. The weight of him, the heat, the solid reality of Devlin Porter finally touching me is overwhelming.
His palms slide under my sleep shirt, fingers splaying across my ribs, my waist, exploring with deliberate attention. "We should talk," he murmurs against my neck, and I appreciate that even now, he's being responsible. "About protection."
"I'm on birth control. Have been for years." I sit up enough to look at him. "And I got tested after Tyler died. I'm clean."
"So am I. Got tested after my last deployment." His eyes search mine in the dim light. "Haven't been with anyone since."
"Then there's nothing between us." I reach for the hem of my shirt. "Help me with this."
He does, pulling the soft fabric up and over my head, his gaze tracking down my body with unconcealed want. His hands follow the path his eyes took, palms warm against my skin as they trace my curves. When his mouth replaces his hands, kissing a path from my collarbone down to my breast, I arch into him with a gasp.
He takes his time, learning what makes me moan, what makes my fingers tighten in his hair. His tongue circles one nipple before taking it into his mouth, and the sensation shoots straight through me. By the time he moves to the other breast, I'm already pulling at the waistband of my sleep shorts, needing them gone, needing more skin against skin.
He helps me shed them along with my underwear, then sits back to look at me. The hunger in his expression makes me feel powerful, desired in ways that have nothing to do with protection or duty.
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice rough with need.
"Your turn." I reach for his belt, and he lets me unbuckle it, unzip his pants, push them down along with his boxer briefs. When he's finally naked, I take a moment to appreciate him. Hard muscle, scarred skin, dog tags catching the dim light, and the very obvious evidence of how much he wants me.
I wrap my fingers around him, stroking slowly, and watch his eyes go dark. "Andi," he groans, his hips flexing into my touch. "If you keep doing that, this is going to be over before it starts."
"Can't have that." I release him but pull him down to me, our bodies finally skin to skin from chest to thigh. The contact is electric, overwhelming, and when he settles his weight on me, I wrap my legs around his hips instinctively.
His mouth finds mine again as his hand slides between us, fingers exploring, finding me wet and ready. He strokes slowly, deliberately, building sensation with each pass until I'm moving against his hand, chasing the pleasure he's creating. When he slides a finger inside me, then another, I break the kiss to gasp against his shoulder.
"You feel so good," he murmurs against my ear, his fingers working me with precision. "So ready for me."
I rock my hips against his hand, wordless and wanting. He withdraws his fingers, positioning himself at my entrance. His eyes meet mine in the dim light, pupils blown wide with desire.
He enters me slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust as he fills me. The stretch, the fullness, the sheer intimacy of having Devlin inside me steals my breath. His forehead rests against mine as we both adjust to the sensation.
"God, Andi." Reverence fills his voice. "You feel incredible."
We move together, finding a rhythm that builds slowly. He watches me, never looking away, like he's memorizing every expression, every sound. His control is slipping in the way his muscles tense, the way his breathing gets ragged, but he's still focused on me.
