“I need the release that only you can give me.”
That does it.
I stand so fast she lets out a small laugh of surprise, her legs wrapping around my waist automatically as I lift her. I carry her down the hall, kicking my bedroom door closed behind us.
There’s no hesitation now.
She slides down my body slowly, hands gliding over my chest, and I tug my shirt over my head, tossing it aside.
“Now take yours off,” I say, voice rough.
She does, grinning like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I step back just long enough to strip off my jeans. “Your turn.”
She peels hers off without breaking eye contact.
We stand there for a second, both of us breathing harder than the moment calls for. The rest of the layers fall away between us, and even after every time we’ve been together, she still hits me the same way.
Every. Single. Time.
“You take my breath away,” I admit quietly.
Her expression softens for half a second before that spark returns.
I nod toward the bed.
“Get on the bed,” I say, my voice dropping. “On your hands and knees.”
Her eyes darken.
She likes when I take charge.
And I love that she trusts me enough to let me.
As she moves onto the bed, slow and deliberate, my chest tightens, not just with desire, but with something deeper.
She isn’t fragile.
She isn’t broken.
She’s powerful.
And she chose to be here.
With me.
I crawl onto the bed behind her, one hand sliding up her spine, leaning down to press a kiss between her shoulders.
“You’re safe,” I murmur against her skin.
She looks back at me over her shoulder, eyes dark, breath already uneven.
That look flips something inside me.
I grip her hips and pull her back against me harder this time, not asking. She gasps softly, and I lean down, biting gently at the curve of her shoulder.
“You like when I take control,” I murmur.
