“Okay,” he says.
He kisses me, really kisses me, and means it. Not like before. Slow, and certain, and with a desire that tattoos itself across my skin. His fingers slide into my wetness, and I gasp into his mouth and feel him smile.
His hand tightens slightly in my hair as his mouth finds mine, and I melt into it without thinking, my fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulders, pulling him closer even though there’s no space left to close.
“So perfect and wet,” he murmurs, and then there’s teeth in the kiss, and my nails are scrabbling against his neck, his back. “I’ve had dreams about this Ivy. For years. About us.”
“Please,” I say again, and it’s half a sob. “You feel so good. I need more.”
“I’ve missed you,” he says quietly.
The words settle somewhere deep in my chest, heavier than they should be, and I reach for him without thinking, my fingers sliding into his hair this time, holding him there.
“I know,” I say softly. “I missed you too. So much, Caleb.”
Because whatever this is, it never really stopped.
He leans into my touch for a second, just a second, before pulling back enough to look at me again.
Really look.
There’s something searching in it. Something steady.
The space between us disappears again, slower this time, deeper, the moment stretching instead of snapping. My hands slide down his shoulders, across his back, grounding myself in something solid as everything else shifts and softens and sharpens all at once. I tug at his shirt, and he pulls it off, and it lands with a wet thwack inside the tub.
I trace the perfect curves of his stomach, his abs, and he shudders at my touch.
“Still just for science?” I whisper, because apparently I can’t stop myself from being an idiot.
He huffs out a quiet laugh against my mouth, warm and a little unsteady. “I think we’re well past that.”
“Good,” I say, breathless.
Because this doesn’t feel like practice. It feels like coming home.
And when he pulls me closer, skin to skin, my breasts against his chest, I go without hesitation, without doubt. Letting myself sink into the warmth of him, into the steady certainty of his hands. Into the slow, unhurried way he takes his time like there’s nowhere else we need to be.
And when he pulls me back against him, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world, I let myself lean into it.
His arms go around me, and I fumble with the button of his pants as he huffs a laugh into my hair and lifts me against him, carrying me into the bedroom.
I land on the soft covers of his bed as he turns and closes the bedroom door, locking Gunner out.
I can’t look away from him, don’t want to, as he unbuttons his pants. I drink in every perfect, muscled inch of him, reveling in how perfect and strange this moment is all at once.
“Ivy,” he says, his adam’s apple bobbing as he stares at me. “I want this to be?—”
“I need you right now,” I say through gritted teeth. “We can do slow and perfect next time, but I need you now. No more teasing or experiments. I want you.”
“Good,” he says, stalking towards me. “I don’t think I can be patient or slow right now.”
And he’s not.
We’re two forces of nature colliding, he’s not gentle and neither am I. It’s wild and fast and it feels like nothing in this world has ever felt.
And when were spent, lying next to each other, limbs tangled up and sweaty, I know nothing else will ever feel like it again.
Unless it’s with him.
