I’ve lived thirty years without knowing this love. I refuse to go one second longer.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For removing your clothes?” He grins, letting out a wry puff of breath. “It’s not a chore, Red.”
“Not for that, smartass.” I roll my eyes, shoving his shoulder. “For finding me.”
I swallow hard, emotion clogging my throat. Because I don’t only mean today after the accident. Wes arrived in my life at the exact moment I needed him. By some strange stroke of serendipity, we met again—older, jaded, and still searching. Standing at another crossroads, he’s been by my side, quietly caring for me in ways I didn’t fully understand until now.
“Thank you for finding me,” I repeat, spinning to face him.
I move closer until my body presses against his, the soaked cotton of his T-shirt against my skin. I intertwine our hands at my side, while my other hand snakes beneath his shirt, fingers grazing over his firm abdomen. It’s different, touching him after we’ve admitted our love. The confession tapped the deep well of emotion that I’ve tried to drain. But those big, all-encompassing feelings flow through me now, filling every cracked, damaged inch.
I guide his hand between my legs. “I need you, Wes. I love you—”
The words are barely out before Wes slams his mouth against mine, the final tether on his control snapping. His fingers knead my back as he kisses me deeply, each kiss immediately leading to the next, his breath becoming mine. I fumble with the zipper of his jeans, then unsnap the button and shove them down his legs.
“We can go slow later.” I rip his boxers down his thighs until they, too, fall to the floor. I paw at his shirt next until he lifts it overhead, leaving him gorgeously bare. I love how rugged this man is, like he could navigate any situation, like he could keep me safe. “Need you now.”
Wes hauls me onto the bathroom sink and drives inside me in one smooth motion. Our collective moan reverberates off the walls ofthe bathroom. I wrap my legs around his waist, my hands gripping his shoulders for leverage.
“I love you, Isla,” he grunts as he slams into me, again and again. The friction against my hypersensitive skin is bliss, and I never want it to end. “Not going to last—”
“I’m so close,” I whimper, the lick of heat sparking inside of me, growing each time he slides against the spot he knows makes me unravel. “I need—”
“More,” he finishes my sentence, and me with it.
His mouth lands on my breast, tongue and teeth unrelentingly teasing my nipple. I’m overwhelmed by sensation, by Wes connected to every part of me. I pull him tighter, arms wrapping around his chest, as my orgasm crashes into me. He fucks me through it, each thrust against my sensitive center igniting another euphoric wave.
“Fucking perfect,” he groans beside my ear as he comes, his body going taut with tension before detonating against me. I hold him tight as he shakes, running my fingers through his hair soothingly.
We stay connected like that, fighting to catch our breath as our heartbeats settle.
“Time to clean you up,” Wes says, abruptly lifting me off the counter and walking us into the shower.
I squeal as the water rains down on us. He carefully lowers me until I’m standing in front of him, looking up at the man I love, in awe that he’s mine. He lathers me with soap, hands exploring my body as he rinses me clean. The shower fills with the smell of roses, and I breathe it in deeply, wanting to commit every second of us tomemory. Through the haze of steam, it’s like a dream, one I’d never allowed myself to wish for.
“This fucking color undoes me. Always has,” Wes murmurs, his fingers rubbing deliciously against my scalp as he massages shampoo into my hair.
I hum with contentment, leaning against him. “Glad you like it,” I whisper, shutting my eyes as he rinses the shampoo from my hair.
“Someone’s a lot more agreeable,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice.
“If you make a joke about your dick being the solution to my attitude problem, so help me.”
Wes laughs. “Well, now I don’t have to.”
I pinch his side, and he uses the opportunity to spin me around to face him again. He kisses me, his tongue slipping between my lips, entangling with mine. A bolt of longing shoots between my legs, desperate for him again. He slides out of my mouth, dragging his teeth against my bottom lip as he pulls back. A pained sigh escapes from me.
“Kiss me until I recover,” he says, running a finger over my bottom lip. “I need you again.”
Lips press to my cheek, gently pulling me from sleep. Wes lies behind me, cradling me against his body with one arm possessively across my abdomen while his chin rests on my shoulder.
“What time is it?” I mumble.
“Around five,” he answers, his fingers skimming across my stomach. “I ordered us food. It should be here soon. I didn’t want to jar you awake when I leave to pick it up.”
A smile plays across my lips. It’s foreign, this amount of smiling. “How considerate.”
