She climbs onto the bed beside me, curling into my side. I wrap an arm around her, and she fits there like she’s always known how.
We don’t talk much after that. We don’t need to. The moment feels complete—not because of what we did, but because of what comes after. The care. The quiet. The way we stay.
I rest my chin against the top of her head and think, distantly, that this is what it means to love someone—not just wanting them, but wanting them safe, warm, and at peace.
And for the first time, I don’t feel rushed by what comes next.
I feel ready to wait.
Chapter Eighteen
LIPS LIKE PIZZA
COLE-PRESENT
The wordsstill echo in my chest, “Kenna loves me” louder than my own heartbeat, shaking loose every wall I ever built. Now the truth is here, an undeniable heat pressed against me, kissing me back like the years didn’t break us. I can't stop myself from holding on.
Her lips part under mine, warm and sweet, and I nearly groan with relief. My hands tangle in the silky weight of her hair, pulling her closer, while her arms loop tight around my neck. We kiss until the air burns, but every break is only a frantic gasp before we find each other again.
She shifts in my lap, straddling me, and the hard friction of her crotch against my straining erection makes my body tremble. Her breath hitches—a sharp, sweet sound—when she feels me beneath her, and that sound, that perfect fit, nearly undoes me. My hands grip the soft curve of her hips, guiding her as she grinds down, and the intoxicating friction of denim on denim sharpens years of aching into this blinding moment.
I slide my hands beneath her shirt, past the rough cotton. Her skin is warm and soft, and her body arches immediately into every touch. When I brush my thumb across the delicate, hardeningbud of her nipple, her sharp gasp breaks into a pained, breathless whimper that sinks straight into the deepest part of me. I trace the outline again, slow and deliberate, watching her eyes darken as all her focus shifts to the sensation.
“God, I’ve missed you,” I whisper.
Her lips hover against mine, trembling. “Don’t stop. Please… don’t stop touching me.”
I lift her into my arms, her legs wrapping tight around my waist. She clings to me as though letting go would undo the last nine years of waiting. Each step up the stairs is heavy with longing, every frantic heartbeat a promise.
I lay her on the bed, hovering above her, and just stare before dragging her pants to her ankles. She’s completely exposed, and the wet sheen between her legs is a silent breathtaking invitation. Her hair spills across the pillow, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes shining with raw, liquid want.
I lean down and kiss her, adding two fingers to her wet pussy. She meets each thrust of my hand and I fucking love it. She freezes abruptly. Her head falls back, mouth open in a silent O.
Her pussy squeezes my fingers so hard I nearly come in my pants.
I trail kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and hear her quiet moans, feel her shiver under me, and it sends sparks through my chest. Every inch of her, every sound, every shudder—it’s overwhelming and beautiful.
I strip my shirt away, and her hands skim over the muscle of my chest with a fierce hunger. I fumble with the button of my jeans, my fingers clumsy, and she lifts her hips to help.
I rip her shirt over her head revealing her tiny pink nipples rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath.
When the last of our clothes are gone, there is nothing left, except for the need for one another. I lower myself onto her, chest pressed to chest, my erection pressed flat against her mound, and she rocks instinctively against me with a softgasp.
“Tell me this is real,” I whisper, afraid the words will vanish.
“It’s real,” she says, her voice shaking, fingers threading into my hair. “You’re here. I’m here. Take me now.”
I pause for only a second, meeting her eyes, and then I push forward, sinking deep and slow into her warmth.
Her words ground me. My hand trails down her side, slow and reverent, until I settle myself between her legs. I pause, looking down into her eyes, drinking in the trust, and then I push forward, sinking deep and slow into her warmth.
Her sharp, stunned cry fills the room, and I hold still for a moment, letting the shocking, perfect fullness settle. Her walls grip me tight—a desperate, familiar welcome. I pull back an inch and thrust again, gentler this time, finding the rhythm that she remembers, the one that makes her gasp. Her lips part, a low, constant moan escaping with every downward stroke.
I begin to move faster, charting the curve of her hips as they lift to meet my piston-like drive. I hear the wet, slick sound of our bodies uniting echoing in the quiet room. My lips trail down her neck, tasting the quick, frantic beat of her pulse, and she tilts her head back, offering me more.
She wraps her legs tight around my waist, urging me deeper, faster. Her body trembles, hips bucking urgently, a whispered plea I can feel more than hear. When the moment hits her, a harsh, raw cry tears from her throat. Her back arches high off the bed, her nails digging into my shoulders, her whole body seizing as the climax washes over her.
The sight of her undone, shattering beneath me, drags me under too. Heat crashes through me, unstoppable, a white-hot wave of pleasure. I grab her hips, anchoring myself, and let go, a guttural yell lost in her ear as I empty myself into her.
