I kiss her hard, hungry, sweet, and deep—like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her mouth and carve a promise into her skin.Like I’m telling her everything I can’t put into words.That she’s not a choice I’m making.She’s a truth I’m finally accepting.
She gasps into my mouth and I cup her face, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw as her hand slides over mine, my other hand still resting on her stomach.Her fingers curl into mine—tighter—pulling me in, holding me there like she’s terrified I’ll leave again.
But I won’t.
Not this time.
I shift, just enough to press my forehead against hers, and she lets out a breath that shivers between us.Her eyes flicker down to my mouth, then lower—to my chest, to my lap.
And then she moves.
She swings one leg over mine and straddles me right there on the couch, her knees bracketing my thighs, her hands sliding into my hair as her body settles onto mine like she belongs there—because she does.
Fuck, she does.
“Ves ...”I murmur, already breathless.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers back, voice trembling but certain.“Please don’t stop.”
Her hips shift—barely—and I feel her heat through both our shorts.My cock pulses hard beneath her, straining against fabric, already aching to be inside her.And when she rocks against me again—more insistent this time—it’s not careful.It’s need.
I groan, low and broken, because fuck, I’ve missed this.
Her mouth finds mine again, messier this time—wet and open, all tongue and teeth and urgency.She kisses like she’s reclaiming something, like she’s pouring every silent moment and unsent message into the seam of my lips.
And I take it.I take her.
I wrap my arms around her back, one hand dragging up her spine, the other cupping her ass, pulling her tighter against the length of me.She gasps, but she doesn’t stop.Her hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my chest, my jaw—like she doesn’t know where to hold on because it’s all too much.
“Tell me you want this,” I whisper against her mouth, voice wrecked.“Tell me I can touch you.”
She nods, frantic.“Yes.Please, you can touch me.”
I slide one hand beneath her top, palm dragging over warm skin and soft curves.Her stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breast.I take my time—because I need to.Because I want to remember every second of this.She arches into my touch, whimpers softly when I finally cup her.When my thumb drags across the tight peak of her nipple, she moans like she’s been waiting years for this moment.
Her hips roll harder now, rocking into me like she’s chasing something just out of reach.The friction is blinding.My cock is so fucking hard it hurts, the only thing separating us a few thin inches of fabric and the unbearable restraint I’m barely clinging to.
“Fuck, Ves,” I groan into her mouth.“You feel like a fever dream.Like something I’m not allowed to want but never stopped craving.”
She kisses down my neck, her mouth hot and open, and when she sucks just below my ear, I nearly lose it.
“I want you inside me,” she whispers.“I need it, Monty.I need you.”
That shatters me.
Because I need her too—not just to fuck, but to feel.To stay.To be real.
I slide my hand beneath her waistband, fingers finding heat and slick and the kind of welcome that makes my eyes roll back.
She’s soaked.Already.For me.
And it’s everything I can do not to come right there, just from touching her.Just from knowing she’s this wet for me—because it’s me.
I slip a finger inside her and she gasps, hands clutching at my shoulders as she rocks down onto me, greedy and beautiful and wide open.I add a second, fucking her slow and deep, curling my fingers just enough to make her hips jerk.
Her breath stutters.“More.Please.”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper.“I’ll always fucking have you.”
