“Me too,” I say giddily as the dress slips from my shoulders. I let it fall, shimmering silver pooling around my feet. Then I turn.
I stand before him in nothing but the leg brace and pink lace bra and knickers—delicate, barely-there scraps that make his breath catch.
His gaze travels over me slowly, hungrily, before meeting my eyes again. “Beautiful,” he breathes.
We stand there drinking each other in, our chests rising and falling with measured breaths. My skin feels too tight, every nerve ending alive and waiting.
Yearning for him to touch me.
He steps closer, eliminating the space between us, and cups my face in both hands. When he kisses me, it’s different from before, like he’s memorising the taste of me.
I sink my fingers into his hair and kiss him back with everything I have.
We move towards the bed, still kissing, still exploring each other with gentle touches. His belt, his trousers disappear. His fingers hook into the delicate lace at my hips, and he draws it down slowly, eyes never leaving mine.
I remove my bra next, and his pupils dilate as it falls away, jaw clenching as though he’s restraining himself from devouring me whole.
The pink lace joins the silver dress on the floor, and suddenly, there’s no barrier—just the heat and shock of bare skin against bare skin.
The backs of my knees hit the bed, and I sink onto it, pulling him down with me. He hovers over me, weight braced on his forearms, eyes dark and searching as his hand traces the curve of my hip, my thigh.
“Are you sure?” he whispers.
I answer by pulling him closer, gingerly wrapping my legs around him. “Very.”
He kisses me deeply as his hand slides between us, his touch gentle, coaxing soft gasps from my throat until I’m arching against him, desperate, slick, and aching with need.
When he finally settles between my thighs, the first press of him makes us both freeze, our breathing stalled. Dark eyes hold mine.
“Alright?” he murmurs.
“Yes. God, yes.”
His broad hand slides under my neck, cradling the back of my head, while the other grips my shoulder. He enters me slowly, inch by careful inch, his jaw tight with restraint. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, adjusting to the stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming rightness of him inside me.
My name falls from his lips as he sinks deeper, and I wrap myself around him—arms, legs, everything—holding him as close as I possibly can.
For a moment, we’re perfectly still, just breathing together, trembling with the intensity of it.
Then he begins to move.
Slow, rolling thrusts that make me gasp and cling tighter. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together as he pins it gently beside my head. Our eyes lock, and the intimacy of it—being seen like this, vulnerable and wanting—nearly undoes me.
“I love you,” he breathes against my lips between movements.
The words shudder through me like lightning. My heart stumbles as I search his face, overwhelmed by how fiercely I feel it too.
“Forever,” I promise, voice breaking. “I’ll love you forever. I’d be mad not to.”
He kisses me deeply, swallowing my moan as he rolls his hips, finding an angle that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
We move together then—no more words, just shared breaths and the slide of skin on skin. His free hand grips my hip, thumb stroking circles there as he rocks into me, delivering slow, deliberate thrusts.
I arch up to meet each one, taking him deeper, my nails dragging down his back, drawing a helpless groan from deep in his chest. The sound ignites something wild in me. I nip at his lower lip, and he answers with a harder thrust that tears a cry from my throat.
“Like that?” he asks hoarsely.
“Yes—please, don’t stop—”
