“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth just before he cups the back of my head. There’s nothing rushed or forceful about his kiss. It’s soft, it feels . . .gratefulas he lets me take the lead. I slide my lips over his, reveling in the feel of him, in his taste. Tears stream down my cheeks as I realize just how much I’ve missed this. Missed him.
Needed him.
He’s my everything.
And now that he’s here, holding me, I can’t ever let him go again.
I part my lips, and he does the same. We don’t use our tongues, not yet. Instead, we just fall deep into the feel of each other, in the way our mouths match up so perfectly, how our lips glide against each other, opening, closing, signaling to our hearts that this connection is unbreakable.
He leans back, bringing me with him, and I lie on top of him, cupping either side of his face while I continue to move my mouth over his. Both of his hands slide up my shirt, bringing the fabric with him to the point that I just lift, and he pulls the fabric off before rolling me to my back and propping himself up so he can stare down at me. His eyes are misty, and when I reach up to touch his dewy cheek, he leans into my touch.
“I want to hold you forever,” he says softly. “Never let go. Never be parted from you.”
“Never,” I say as I push his shorts down. He helps me, and when he’s fully naked, he presses himself into my thigh.
He brings his mouth back to mine, and this time, when our mouths part, our tongues collide. His demands grow with every stroke, his needs transported through the urgency in his mouth. The fire of his touch and the hunger in his groans light the fire between us.
I spread my legs and reach down to his erection. I stroke it a few times before placing it against my entrance.
He breathes a heavy breath, then breaks our kiss just enough to meet my gaze as he enters me.
My teeth roll over the corner of my lip as he slowly fills me up until he completely bottoms out. “Jesus,” he whispers as his breath catches in his chest. “I’ve never loved anything in my life more than you, Lilly. No one compares to you. Never will be.”
My lips press together as a new wave of tears fill my eyes. He kisses them away before bringing his lips back to mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, and I hold him close, getting lost in his mouth, allowing my mind to focus on the feel of his tongue swiping against mine, on the gentle way he cups one of my breasts, and the tenderness in his touch, something I’ve never experienced from him before.
I want to commit this to memory.
Burn it into my brain.
Never, ever let go of this moment when we’re giving each other ourselves, completely, unfiltered, raw, just the way we are.
And as he slowly moves his hips, pulling his cock almost all the way out of me only to so damn slowly insert himself back in, my hands stroke down his back, my fingers running against the puckered skin of his scars. He tenses for a moment, but I kiss him harder, trying to show him that I love him, I love everything about him, even his battle wounds—the wounds he acquired for loving me.
After a few seconds of letting me explore, I become possessive over the fact that this man is mine.
His heart.
His mind.
His soul.
No one else will be able to feel him the way that I do.
No one will have access to his mind like I do.
And no one will ever be loved, protected, or feel the safety in his arms like I do.
“Make me come,” I say softly.
With that, his kisses grow hungrier, the undulation of his hips more intense, and when he bottoms out inside me three times in a row, the tingling sensation of my impending orgasm climbs up my spread legs.
“Nothing will keep us apart,” I say, and he drives harder into me. “Nothing will ever come between us.”
“Nothing,” he says through a clenched jaw. He props up, his hands digging into the blanket below us, giving him better leverage. I slip one of my legs over his shoulder, presenting him with a different angle, and we both groan when he goes an inch deeper with each stroke. I can feel him all the way in the pit of my stomach. And with every pulse, my body grows closer and closer to the edge.
“I’m right there,” I say to him.
“Me too,” he says, his hair falling past his headband and over his forehead. “Fuck, Lilly . . . right there.”
