“I know what you’re asking and yes.”
I get my hands on his belt. He helps.
All barriers between us—just gone.
He’s careful. So careful. As he lowers himself down on top of me.
Claiming me.
Like I’m something worth being careful with — and that alone, that specific tenderness, undoes me more than anything else.
Like he knows how long I’ve been broken and doesn’t want to add to it anymore.
“Okay?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
• • •
He pushes forward slowly, then sliding beneath to press against my entrance—deliberate, inch by inch. Watching my face the whole time. His forehead drops to mine.
Both of us go still.
I stop breathing.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he breathes. Like he feels it too. Like this was always going to be exactly this.
• • •
He starts to move.
And I stop being a person with words.
Just this. Just sensation.
Just him — his hands gripping my hips, his mouth at my throat, my name on his lips over and over like a rhythm he can’t stop, like he’s been holding it in for years and has finally run out of reasons.
He's slow at first, gripping my hips like he needs something to hold onto.
Deep.
“Say you’re still mine,” he breathes. “Ro. Say it.”
Something in me hears that and breaks opens even more. I wrap around him completely. Pull him even closer—deeper still.
“I’m still yours,” I say, the words tearing out of me. “I’ve always been yours. Not for a single day did I stop.”
Something also loosens in him.
His grip tightens. He moves harder, faster, hitting the spot inside me that makes me see stars.
Like the words knocked the last thing loose. Like saying it out loud after everything is the key he’s been looking for.
“I’ve got you,” he says against my skin. Low and rough and shaking slightly. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
• • •
