And when my mouth finds hers, our kiss is anything but soft.
It’s not soft. It’s not tentative. It’s heat and tears and weeks of aching—of holding back what we wanted most. Her hands are in my wet hair, dragging me closer like she can’t stand another inch between us. I press her against the door, the wood thudding behind her as our bodies collide, all frantic mouths and soaked clothes.
She’s crying. So am I.
Tears streak both our faces, but it doesn’t stop us. If anything, it fuels the fire that’s been building too long. This isn’t careful or planned. It’s wild. Raw. Desperate. Her sweater is already half off hershoulder, and when I kiss the tear-slicked skin there, she gasps like I’ve struck a nerve straight to her soul.
“I missed you,” I breathe against her throat. “Every day, I missed you.”
Her fingers fumble at the hem of my hoodie, tugging it up, palms flattening against my bare chest like she needs to feel my heart beating for her.
“You broke it,” she whispers, voice cracking. “You shattered me.”
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes—both of us wrecked, ruined, still crying.
“I know,” I rasp. “And I swear to you, I’ll spend the rest of my life putting you back together.”
She kisses me again, hard and aching, biting at my bottom lip like she wants to punish me and save me in the same breath. My hands are under her thighs, lifting her as her legs wrap around my waist. We crash against the door, the slam echoing through the apartment like a thunderclap.
“I love you,” I say again, over and over, like a chant. Like penance.
She’s gasping my name like a lifeline. Like I’m the only thing anchoring her.
“Max,” she murmurs, her breath hot against my ear. “Please. Don’t stop.” Her words are a plea, a command, and a promise all at once. I don’t need to be told twice. My hands roam over her, urgent but reverent, like I’m mapping her body for the first time. Her sweater falls to the floor, forgotten, and I trace the curves of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. Every inch of her feels sacred.
I slide my hand up her thigh, under the skirt she’s wearing, until my fingers brush the edge of her panties. She gasps, head tipping back, brown hair spilling over her shoulders—and I swear, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
She’s already wet, so wet, and the realization makes my dick twitch painfully in my jeans. I groan, pressing my hips into hers, letting her feel how much I want her.
“Max,” she whimpers, her head falling back as I dip my fingers beneath the lace. “Please.” I smirk against her skin, but it’s shaky, unsteady. “Begging already?” I tease, though my voice is rough with my own desperation. “I haven’t even started yet.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders as I press her harder against the door, the wood groaning under our weight. The rain outside is a distant hum, a backdrop to the storm raging between us. I kiss her neck, her jaw, her earlobe, whispering filthy promises I fully intend to keep. “I’m not stopping,” I growl, my lips brushing her ear. “Not until you’re screaming my name.”
My hands grip her ass, squeezing hard as I grind against her, the friction between us sending sparks through my veins. She’s wet, so fucking wet, her heat seeping through her panties, and I can’t wait any longer. My fingers fumble with the waistband of her lace-trimmed underwear, tearing them down her legs with an urgency that borders on violence. Her heels still dig into my back as she helps me kick them away, the fabric pooling at our feet like discarded evidence of our restraint.
“Now,” she orders, her voice a low, primal growl.
I don’t need to be told twice. My belt comes undone with a frantic tug, my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped in one swift motion. I’m free, my cock throbbing, desperate for her. She shifts her hips, guiding me, and I slide into her in one swift, seamless motion. The tightness of her pussy engulfs me, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body that’s almost too much to bear.
Her eyes flutter open, lips parting on a soft moan. “Fuck,” she gasps. “Max, thatfeels—”
“Good?” I ask, voice rough. “Tell me it feels good.”
“Yes. God, yes! Harder, Max,” she begs, voice trembling with need.
I obey, thrusting into her with everything I’ve got. The door creaks with every movement, but it’s drowned out by our ragged breaths and her desperate, breathless moans. Her legs lock around me, nails digging into my shoulders, her body arching to meet my rhythm. She’s close—I can feel it in the way her walls clench around me, in the sharp catch of her breath as she moans my name.
“Baby,” I rasp, pressing my forehead to hers, “can you wait for me? I want us to come together.”
“Yes,” she manages, voice tight with urgency.
We find that rhythm, moving in sync, each thrust building like a wave cresting toward the inevitable. My release barrels toward me, unstoppable, and I groan against her mouth, “Now, baby.”
When it hits, it’s not just physical—it’s everything. A collapse and a connection. A crash and a coming home. The rush, the heat, the surrender. We fall apart and back into each other all at once.
35
NORA
