Just as I start to come down, his rhythm falters. With a deep groan, he follows me over the edge, burying his face in my neck as he finds hisrelease.
For several moments, we stay like that, our bodies still joined, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the most comforting way. His breathing gradually slows as he presses gentle kisses to the curve of my shoulder.
He finally lifts his head, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch impossibly tender. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No.” I smile. “That was…everything.”
A sigh escapes him as he carefully withdraws, leaving me feeling oddly empty. The mattress dips as he rises, moving with purpose toward the bathroom. I watch him go, unable to tear my eyes away from the broad expanse of his back, the defined muscles shifting beneath inked skin as he walks. The moonlight filtering through the curtains traces the contours of his body, highlighting the strength in his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, the firm curve of his backside.
He’s beautiful in a way that’s all hard angles and power. Not polished or perfect, but real.
When he returns, his eyes find mine in the low light, searching, though I’m not sure what he’s looking for.
He slides back beside me, his warmth immediately enveloping me. He hesitates, then tugs me close, curling his arm around my waist like he’s afraid I might change my mind. My cheek finds the solid wall of his chest.
He exhales against my hair. “You don’t have to stay, but I’d like it if you did.”
Coming from him, it’s a piece of him handed over. It’s not just an ask—it’s a confession. He doesn’t ask for much, if anything. I don’t think he knows how to want out loud. But he wants this. Me. Here. With him.
I could tell him I was planning to stay all along. I could tease him or say something light to break the weight of the moment. But I don’t. I just press my face closer to his chest, breathing him in, and let my hand slide over his side.
“I want to stay.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he tightens his hold on me. His thumb draws soft circles into my hip like he’s grounding himself with the feel of me. There’s nothing rushed or messy here. Just skin against skin and hearts that are finally starting to speak the same language.
twenty-six
AIDAN
The soft creak of the mattress stirs me, pulling me from my haze of sleep. Isla might sleep like the dead, but I don’t. Not ever since she was born.
I keep my eyes closed, but I can feel Lucy moving beside me, trying not to shake the air around her. She’s always so damn sweet, even now, tiptoeing around not wanting to disturb a moment of peace. What she doesn’t get is thatshe’sthe peace.
I crack one eye open just as she swings her legs off the side of the bed. Her back catches the light, pale and soft against the shadows. Her hair’s a wreck, wild strands falling across her neck, and there’s a red mark on her shoulder, a reminder of where I left my hand while we slept. She doesn’t look like she’s been up all night. She looks like the damn sunrise. Beautiful, without even trying.
“You sneaking out on me, lass?” I tease, my voice rough with sleep.
She jumps, head spinning around to meet my eyes. Her cheeks flush, a soft pink creeping up to her ears. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispers, hands twisting in her lap.
I push myself up onto one elbow, a lazy grin tugging at my lips. “You think I’d let you slip out of here without a proper good morning?”
Before she can say anything, I reach for her. My fingers find her wrist, just firm enough to pull her back toward me. Her soft, airy laugh hits me right in the chest.
She slinks back under the covers, and my hands move over her, my lips trailing against her skin, nothing rushed.
I’ve spent so long pretending I didn’t need this. The heat of someone’s body pressed close. The way a woman feels wrapped around me, pulling me under, reminding me I’m alive. I thought I’d trained it out of myself, buried the hunger so deep it couldn’t surface. Now she’s here, and I’m desperate for more. Exactly what I was afraid of.
“I need to get home to change before work,” she sighs. “And I’m sure you don’t want Isla to see me sneaking out of your room.”
She’s not wrong. I’m not about to explain this shit to a five-year-old, and yet, the thought of leaving for weeks without being inside her again? That doesn’t sit right. I can’t do it.
My lips brush lightly against her neck. “Let me have you one more time.” I’m begging without wanting to admit it. “I can be quick.”
Probably too quick, considering it took every ounce of willpower I had not to explode the second I was inside her last night.
She laughs again, and damn it, I swear I’d give up anything just to hear that sound every day for the rest of my life.
What the fuck?
