My remaining tension disappears as I soak in the warmth of his embrace, all the love and trust I feel in it. All of my worries drain away.
I’m safe.
Pulling away just enough to plant my hands on his shoulders and rise onto my tiptoes, I brush a kiss on his lips. “Time is precious, and I don’t want to waste any of it. Okay?”
“Very okay,” he says, his gaze heating.
Our kiss deepens, his hands stroking me through my shirt, tugging the base of it. I help him remove it, nudging the door closed behind me before I pull him toward the bed.
The blanket smells like him, the scent of cedarwood and balsam filling my chest as I sink into it and soak up the kisses he plants on my cheeks, my chin, my forehead, my neck, delicious kisses trailing down my chest, finding the curve of my breasts before he descends lower.
“Let me love you,” he says, lifting his head, his gaze drinking me in.
As he speaks, there’s an echo in my mind, the faintest sound.
You promised to hate me.
But in the next moment, his lips nudge my bare stomach, descending toward my pelvis, and whatever sound I thought I heard vanishes.
After working his way to the top of my pants, he raises his head again, this time with a question on his lips. “Is this okay?”
“Very okay,” I whisper.
The heat of his mouth against my skin increases as he tugs at the waistband of my pants and then my underpants, pulling them both to my knees before lifting my legs and fitting his head neatly between my thighs.
I nearly chuckle at the way we’re staying mostly clothed because who knows when a little person might need us? One day, we won’t need to snatch quick moments. One day, soon enough, I’m sure.
All practical thoughts leave my mind the moment his warm tongue finds my center and begins stroking me, working the sensitive nub until I’m moaning with need.
He responds to every gasp, stroking me softer, harder, lighter, faster, slower, seeming to read my mind as to what I want until the release is a precipice, and letting go feels like allowing myself to fall, knowing he’ll catch me.
I rock against him as the orgasm grips me, pleasure spiraling through every inch of my body, sating my need and filling me with warmth.
He eases me down from the high, stroking the outsides of my thighs, brushing kisses against my inner thighs, lowering my legs, and following my curves with his hands as he helps pull my pants back into place.
He stretches out beside me, wearing a satisfied smile on his lips, and when I reach for the waistband of his jeans, he catches my hand. “I want to enjoy this with you,” he says. “Right here. Right now. I don’t need more.”
“Later?” I ask, nestling against him, tipping my head back to bask in his smile.
“Later,” he replies, wrapping his upper arm around me and pulling me close.
It’s the easiest thing to fall asleep to the constant beat of his heart and the certainty that everything will be okay.
What feels like a heartbeat later, my eyes fly open.
The sunlight is gone. So is Striker, and the bed beside me is cold.
I shiver against a blanket that is no longer warm as I try to pull myself upright, pushing against a sudden weight within my mind.
What is this? What’s going on?
Pulling myself to the edge of the bed, I fall to the floor, landing on my hands and knees.
The armchair is gone. There are no curtains. Frosty moonlight shimmers across floorboards that are so rough I snag a splinter in my palm. After plucking it out, I finally wobble upright.
“Striker?” My heart hammers in my chest as fear takes hold of me. “Striker!”
Where is he? Where is my daughter?
