Of knowing that he came for me.
I pushed all thoughts from my brain, pressed all decisions that needed to be made to the back of my mind as I focused on the present, of Cane laying me back on the bed and covering my body with his.
His body was heavy as he pressed it on top of mine, our bodies making contact at every possible point. He laced his fingers through my hair on each side of my head, holding me firmly in place as he kissed me like his life depended on it.
Maybe it did. Maybe mine did, too.
I became putty in his hands, my body responding to his like a siren’s call—letting him, trusting him, needing him to take the lead.
He broke the kiss, and we both struggled to catch our breath. He stared at me intently, his gaze as heavy as his body, until I finally became nervous.
“Cane? What’s going on?”
Very slowly, his face broke out into a smile. “If you only knew how much these moments meant to me …” He looked down, blushing.
“I do know,” I whispered, “because that’s what got me through these last few days.”
I wrapped my arms around his back, my hands going beneath his shirt, feeling his muscles flex at my touch. I stroked his skin with my fingertips, feeling his body respond.
His lips found mine, more aggressively this time, as the fire that had always burned between us intensified once again.
“I need you,” he muttered against my lips.
I nodded subtly, and his hands found the hem of my shirt. He dragged it lazily over my head and tossed it away. I unbuttoned my pants, pushing them down and kicking them off. He grabbed a condom from his pocket before removing his pants and depositing them onto the floor; his shirt quickly followed.
He was a sight to behold. His body was leaner than it normally was and chiseled to perfection. His shoulders were bigger, his abs more serrated. Men spent hours trying to achieve this level of definition.
Noticing my curious look, Cane smiled. “I’ve been boxing a lot. Hours a day.” He tore open the wrapper and rolled the protection over himself.
“I approve.”
He climbed onto the bed and over me again, holding himself above me in a push-up position. “I approve of this. And I’ve made a decision.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re more beautiful than sexy.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure exactly how to take that.
“Don’t get me wrong—you are sexy, too. But that doesn’t explain who you are. Not to me. Being sexy is just on the outside. It would do you a disservice not to take into account the person you are on the inside. You’re beautiful everywhere.”
“And you say you hate words,” I said, reaching up and pulling his face toward me.
“It’s you. I lose the filter. It’s the only thing I don’t like about you.”
He lay on top of me, and I could feel his hardness against my leg. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he guided himself into me. He pushed slowly, spreading me apart as he plunged deeper, inch by inch.
“I’ve missed this,” he said, pulling back and then rocking forward slowly again.
“Me, too.”
My body stretched with his size as he pressed in and then pulled out. He repeated the act until he found a delicious rhythm, not too hard and not too easy. He propped himself up on one hand, his other finding my nipple and rolling it between his fingers.
I closed my eyes and escaped the mental prison I had been in, enjoying the pure physical pleasure from the glorious man above me. He pressed harder, pulled quicker, my body building quickly until he pulled out altogether, causing my eyes to fly open.
“I want you on top.” He lay beside me, propping his head up on a stack of pillows.
I straddled his waist and hovered over him. I palmed his girth, solid against my hand, and sat down slowly until he was fully inside my body.
