I push the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet.
She's wearing nothing underneath but a scrap of black lace, and the sight of her makes my mouth go dry.
"Fucking beautiful," I breathe.
I spin her back around, lifting her effortlessly.
Her legs wrap around my waist, her arms around my neck, and I carry her to the bed.
She bounces when I lay her down, laughing, and the sound is so carefree—so different from the scared woman who showed up on my doorstep weeks ago—that something in my chest cracks wide open.
"I love you," I say.
Her laughter fades into something softer. "I love you too."
I slide off my cut and place it on my desk, then strip off my shirt, my jeans, everything that separates us.
Her eyes roam over my body—hungry, appreciative—and she reaches for me.
"Come here," she says.
I cover her body with mine, kissing her deep and slow.
Her hands explore my back, my shoulders, the scars I've accumulated over a lifetime of violence.
She traces each one like she's memorizing them, like they're a map to understanding who I am.
"I want to feel you," she whispers. "All of you. Nothing between us."
"Ripley—"
"I'm on birth control. And I trust you." Her eyes meet mine, steady and certain. "I want this, Levi. I want us."
The trust in her voice undoes me.
I capture her mouth in another kiss as I position myself at her entrance, feeling her heat, her wetness.
"Tell me if you need me to stop," I say.
"I won't."
I push inside her slowly, giving her time to adjust. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, and the sensation—the tight, velvet heat of her—nearly overwhelms me.
"Okay?" I manage.
"God, yes." She rolls her hips, taking me deeper. "Move. Please."
I start slow, savoring every stroke, every sound she makes, but slow doesn't last long.
The need builds too quickly, the hunger too sharp.
Soon I'm driving into her with deep, powerful thrusts, and she's meeting each one, her body arching beneath mine.
"Harder," she gasps. "I can take it."
I give her what she asks for.
What we both need. The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard hitting the wall in a rhythm that matches my thrusts.
