“Me too,” I whispered, my hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer.
Clothes were removed in lazy movements, a slow unveiling that built the tension higher with every lingering touch. His fingers brushed the curve of my waist, the dip of my hip, as if relearning me. I arched into his touch, gasping softly when his lips moved across my collarbone.
“I love the way you react to me,” he said, voice husky, dark with need.
I exhaled shakily. “I can’t help it.”
His kisses worked their way down my body, lingering, teasing, his lips and tongue igniting a slow, burning heat everywhere they touched. My pulse quickened, my body coming alive under his touch in a way I hadn’t felt in so long. The demands of parenting, the exhaustion, the relentless cycle of responsibility, all of it melted away beneath the weight of his hands, the press of his body, the sheer desire crackling between us.
When he moved over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, I sighed, tension unravelling in the heat of him. His hands explored me in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, brushing my hair back, his gaze dark with hunger, his voice rough with need.
“Tell me again,” I teased, wrapping my legs around him, arching into him, needing him closer.
His chuckle was low, full of promise, vibrating against my skin. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
His lips met mine again, claiming, demanding, and I melted into him as we moved together, slow at first, savouring every delicious press and glide of our bodies. Each roll of his hips sentanother wave of heat through me, building, coiling tighter with every thrust. My fingers dug into his back, urging him deeper, harder, our breath mingling in gasps and murmured names.
Every whispered word, every moan, every gasp was a rediscovery, a reclaiming of something we had nearly lost in the chaos of life. The connection we’d been craving, the passion buried beneath routine and exhaustion, flared back to life like a spark catching fire.
He buried his face in my neck, his breath ragged, his rhythm becoming more urgent. The friction, the heat, the sheer, overwhelming pleasure of him sent me spiralling closer, my body tightening, clenching around him as I lost myself in the sensation.
“God, I missed this,” he groaned against my skin, his voice full of awe and desperation, his body trembling with restraint.
“Me too,” I gasped, holding him tighter, pulling him deeper, letting go completely.
And then, together, we unravelled, bodies entwined, breathless, shattering and coming back together in a way that was more than just physical. It was everything we’d been missing, everything we still were.
As we lay tangled in the sheets, our bodies slick and spent, he brushed his lips over my shoulder, his fingers lazily drawing patterns against my skin. “We need to do that more often.”
I laughed, turning to press a kiss to his jaw. “Agreed. But next time, we lock the door.”
I turned my head, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “We’re still us.”
He smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Always.”
And then a small voice echoed through the monitor.
“Mummy? I want toast.”
Dan groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “Of course.”
I laughed, kissing his shoulder. “Back to reality.”
But for a few precious hours, we had been just us and that was amazing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DAN
I didn’t mean for it to become a points system.
That’s the thing.
I genuinely thought I was helping.
In my head, I was doing the right thing. Doing more. Stepping up. Showing effort. And, yes, maybe hoping that effort would lead to something. Not because I thought Emma owed me. Not exactly.
