“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not giving up. When everything went to shit and it would've been easier to walk away. You didn't.”
His hand found my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “I was never going to walk away. You're it for me, Jace. This is it.”
My throat went tight. “You're it for me too.”
We kissed again, and this time it wasn't soft. It was hungry. Desperate in the way it always got when we remembered how close we'd come to losing this. His tongue pushed into my mouth, claiming, and I opened for him immediately, letting him take what he needed.
His hands slid under my shirt, rough palms against my skin, and I arched into the touch. We'd been so careful the past month—gentle with my shoulder, mindful of the healing, always checking in. But right now, I didn't want careful. I wanted to feel him. Wanted to be reminded that this was real, that we'd made it through, that we were here in our house and nothing could take this away from us.
“Shoulder—” Grant started, pulling back.
“Is fine. I'm fine. I need you.” I grabbed his shirt, pulled him closer. “Please, Grant. I need you to fuck me. Need you to make me feel it.”
Something shifted in his expression. Went darker. Hungrier. “You sure?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes. Stop being so careful with me.”
“I'm always going to be careful with you.”
“Then be careful while you fuck me hard enough that I feel it tomorrow.” I met his eyes, made sure he could see how much I meant it. “Please, Daddy. I need it.”
He groaned, and I felt his cock harden against my thigh. “You can't just say shit like that.”
“Why not? It's true.” I rolled my hips up, grinding against him. “I want you to wreck me. Want you to claim me in our bed, in our house. Want to christen this place properly.”
“Jesus Christ, Jace.” His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise. “You're going to be the death of me.”
“Good way to go.”
He kissed me again, brutal and possessive, and his hands were everywhere—under my shirt, on my skin, pulling at fabric. We broke apart long enough for him to yank my shirt over my head, careful with my shoulder but not gentle, and then his mouth was on my neck, sucking and biting his way down to my collarbone.
“Fuck,” I gasped. “Yes. Mark me. Want everyone to see.”
“They already know you're mine.” His teeth closed on my collarbone, hard enough to leave a bruise. “But I'll mark you anyway. Because I can. Because you're mine and I want the world to know it.”
“Yours. Always yours.”
His hands moved to my jeans, popping the button and dragging down the zipper. “Lift up.”
I did, and he pulled my jeans and boxer briefs off in one smooth motion. Then I was naked beneath him, and he was still fully clothed, and the contrast made my cock throb.
“Not fair,” I said. “You're still dressed.”
“I know.” He ran his hands up my thighs, spreading them wider. “I like you like this. Naked and spread out for me while I'm still dressed. Makes you look desperate.”
“I am desperate.” My cock was hard, flushed dark and leaking against my stomach. “Desperate for you. Desperate for your cock. Desperate for you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name.”
He groaned and leaned down to kiss me again, and I could feel the rough fabric of his jeans against my bare skin. “Off. Need this off. Need to see you.”
He pulled back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, and I got my hands on his chest immediately—feeling the coarsehair, the solid muscle beneath, the way his breath caught when I dragged my nails down his sides.
“Pants too,” I said. “Need you naked. Need to feel you.”
He stood up and stripped off his jeans and boxer briefs, and then he was naked too, his cock thick and hard and already leaking. I reached for him, but he caught my wrist.
