“Morning,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat, heavy with everything we hadn’t said but had still somehow shared. Last night hadn’t just been sex—it was a shift. Something inside me had cracked open, and now, in his arms, something deeper stirred—something that wanted.
His thumb brushed along my cheek, a reverent, almost awed gesture. It made my breath hitch. “You’re still here,” he murmured.
I smiled faintly. “Where else would I be?”
But his expression shifted—barely, just a flicker in his eyes, like he was weighing the truth of that answer against all the ways this could still fall apart.
“You could’ve run,” he said softly.
The words hit deeper than I expected, settling in my chest like a question I hadn’t wanted to face. But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t pull away. Not this time.
Instead, I curled closer into him, letting my fingers drift over the lines of his chest. “Not running,” I said. “Not anymore.”
And I meant it—with everything I was.
A shy grin tugged at my lips as I met Nick’s gaze, the morning light catching in his eyes like fire smoldering just beneath the surface. His warmth wrapped around me even before he touched me, and I didn’t try to bury the truth clawing its way to the surface. “I want you again,” I breathed, the words trembling out of me before I could retreat behind caution or pride.
His smile curved into something dark and knowing—dangerous in the way only he could be—while still managing to feel like a promise. He shifted beneath me, slow and effortless, until he was lying flat and guiding me to straddle him. His hands moved over my thighs like I was something delicate. Precious. His eyes never left mine.
“Then take what you want,” he said, voice thick with sleep and something deeper—something reverent.
The ache between my legs was still there, a tender echo of last night’s claiming, but my desire bloomed right through it. I wasn’t afraid of the hunger anymore. Not his, not mine. This time, I wanted to explore him—not as a girl trying to be enough, but as a woman who already was. I rocked my hips against him, and the shiver that ran down my spine felt like lightning bottled in my bones.
I leaned forward, my hands on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palms. His body was a study in contrast—hard edges and soft heat, power coiled beneath restraint. I pressed kisses to the sharp cut of his collarbone, then down, lower, tracing the ridges of his abs with my lips and tongue. He tensed slightly beneath me, a quiet intake of breath letting me know he felt it—every flicker of my touch.
“God, you’re perfect,” I whispered, reverent.
His hands came up, sliding slowly along my back, not directing—just grounding. Anchoring. He let me move as I needed, trusted me to guide the rhythm between us. I kissed my way back up his chest, slow and aching, until our foreheads touched and our breaths tangled between parted lips.
When our eyes met again, everything else fell away. There was no past, no pressure—just this. Just us. And the soft, electric truth humming beneath my skin: this wasn’t just about needing him.
It was about belonging.
I took him in my mouth, the taste of him unfamiliar but intoxicating. He groaned, a deep, primal sound that sent a thrill through me. His fingers buried in my hair, guiding me as I moved up and down, finding a rhythm that made his breath hitch.
I hoped I was doing this right. I wanted to please him, to make him feel as good as he made me feel. His grip tightened in my hair.
He pushed deeper into my throat, and my eyes teared up. But I didn't stop. I wanted this. I wanted him.
"Fuck, princess," he growled, his voice strained. "I'm going to shoot my load down your throat right this fucking second if you don't stop, and as much as I want to watch you swallow every fucking drop, I want your pussy more."
He tugged my hair, pulling me up until I was straddling him. His eyes were dark with desire, and I could feel his cock, hard and ready, pressing against me.
"Ride me," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
I hesitated for a moment, unsure of myself. But then I saw the way he was looking at me, like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. And I knew I wanted this. I wanted him.
I lowered myself onto him, feeling him fill me completely. He groaned, his hands gripping my hips as I began to move. It was slow at first, but then I found my rhythm, rocking back and forth, grinding against him.
Nick’s hands gripped my hips, steady and sure, guiding me with a tenderness that made my breath catch. Every motion was deliberate, every press of our bodies a wordless vow. His gaze never left me—not once. It burned into me, fierce and full of awe, like I was the only thing he saw… the only thing that had ever mattered.
“Just like that,” he murmured, voice low and reverent, the words falling against my skin like a secret meant only for me.
We moved together slowly, bodies aligned in a rhythm that felt deeper than touch—like a language we’d only just discovered but somehow already knew by heart. He met each movement with quiet strength, his hands anchoring me, thumbs tracing lazy circles along my waist as if he needed to memorize every inch.
My name left his lips in a whisper between kisses, each one softer, deeper, more consuming than the last. His fingers slid up my spine, not rushing, just exploring—learning me again like I was something sacred. And I was—at least, in his arms, I felt like I was.
The wave crested in me first, a soft gasp escaping as my head dropped to his shoulder, overwhelmed by the heat, the closeness, the way he held me like I was both fragile and infinite.
