“Maggie.” He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her, fighting for control. “Fuck, Maggie.”
She tightened her legs and tilted her hips up, pulling him impossibly deeper. “Move, Anson. Please.”
He almost lost it right then and there. The orgasm built in him like a detonation. He set his teeth, holding still until it ebbed back to manageable.
He pulled back. Thrust in again. The sensation was almost too much—the clutching heat of her, the low, throaty moan she gave, the way her nails marked trails down his back.
“More,” she groaned. “Harder.”
A primal need that he’d denied for too long took over. He needed more, too. Of her. He needed her to feel every inch ofhim, to think about him pounding into her whenever she sat down tomorrow. He needed to brand himself on her. In her.
He scooped her leg onto his shoulder and drove into her with a force that made the bed frame creak in protest.
“Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes. Like that.”
He watched her face, mesmerized by the play of pleasure across her features, the way her lips parted on each exhale, the flush spreading across her chest.
She tightened around him suddenly. “Anson, I’m?—”
“Let go. Come all over me.”
Her eyes rolled back, her neck arched, and her mouth fell open. Guttural, unguarded sounds escaped as she came, her whole body shuddering and clutching around him. She was so beautiful like this—flushed and desperate, gold smeared across her breasts and throat.
His Maggie.
His Magnolia.
Now that he’d had her, he’d never get enough.
He shifted angles, driving deeper, and his thumb found her clit.
“Again,” he growled, his control fraying with each stroke.
Her legs shook so hard they whole bed trembled. “I can’t?—”
He cut her off with a kiss, swallowing her protests.
“You can,” he murmured against her lips. “Let go, Magnolia. I’ve got you.”
Her eyes widened, then fluttered closed as he held still and deep and worked her with just his hand. He wasn’t going to last once he started moving again, and he needed her to take every ounce of pleasure he could give first.
The second orgasm built faster, her body already primed and sensitive. She clutched at his shoulders, gold-streaked fingers digging into his skin as she shattered again, a keening cry torn from her throat.
He pulled out and thrust into her as she came. Once. Twice more, as hard and deep as he could get, then he exploded inside the condom, the force of release leaving him dizzy.
He’d never come so hard in his fucking life.
He barely remembered how to breathe.
He pressed his face into her shoulder and rode out the aftershocks, feeling her clench around him until she went limp, breathing hard. A warm, drowsy hush settled over them, the only sounds their unsteady breathing and the slow tick of the wall clock.
Maggie’s hand drifted up and down his back. She traced the dip and twist of his spine, the strange hills and valleys, until her fingers curled at the nape of his neck. And for the first time since he set that fire, he didn’t care that his scars were on full display.
Kintsugi.
It was the best fucking idea he’d ever had, and he was suddenly very glad for Ghost’s broken blue mug.
Laughter bubbled up out of him. Pure, unfiltered joy. He hadn’t felt anything like it in so long, he didn’t think he was capable anymore.
