“Ellie.”
My name was a warning. Or a plea. I wasn’t sure which, and I didn’t care. I undid the button, dragged the zipper down slow enough to make his abs tense beneath my other hand. His erection strained against the cotton of his boxer briefs, thick and heavy, and when I wrapped my fingers around him, he made a sound that went straight between my thighs.
“Fuck.”
“Language,husband,” I murmured, stroking him once, twice. His hips jerked forward, chasing the touch.
Daniel’s hands found my wrists, not to stop me but to pull me up, crash our mouths together. The kiss was messy and desperate. He walked me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, then tumbled us both onto the mattress. His weight settled over me, solid and right, his thighs bracketing mine.
I gasped when his fingers found the waistband of my leggings, hooked beneath the fabric. He didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out. One sharp tug and they were gone, along with myunderwear, leaving me bare beneath him. His breath stuttered against my collarbone as his gaze raked down my body.
“God, Ellie.”
The way he said my name—like it was sacred, like it was the only word he’d ever needed—sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cool air against my bare skin. This wasDaniel. The boy who’d held my hair back when I’d puked from eating too much cotton candy at the county fair. The guy who’d laughed with me, not at me, when I’d tripped over my own feet in gym class and face-planted in front of half the school. The man who’d sat with me in the hospital waiting room when Grandpa Gus had his heart scare last winter, rubbing my back while I chewed my nails to the quick. He knew every version of me—the messy, the broken, the stubborn—and yet here he was, his dark eyes burning with something so raw it stole my breath.
His gaze traced over me like a touch, lingering on the faint scar above my hip from when I’d tried (and failed) to ride my bike down the hill behind the hardware store at age ten. He knew that story. Knew how I’d limped into Granger’s, tears streaking through the dirt on my face, only for him to grab the first aid kit and play doctor with far too much enthusiasm. But now? Now he wasn’t laughing. His throat worked as he swallowed, his fingers flexing against my thighs like he was fighting the urge to grip too tight.
Once his mouth was on me, any coherent thought dissolved into white-hot sensation. His lips pressed open-mouthed against the inside of my thigh, above the knee, where the skin was soft and sensitive. I jerked, my fingers clawing into his hair, not to pull him away but to anchor myself as the world tilted. His name spilled from my lips, half protest, half prayer.
“Daniel—wait?—“
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against my skin, his breath warm and teasing. The words vibrated through me, a promiseand a threat all at once. Then his tongue found me, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.
A sound tore from my throat—something between a gasp and a sob—as my back arched off the bed. He didn’t rush. Didn’t treat this like some frantic, clumsy race to the finish line. His hands slid beneath me, palms splayed wide against my lower back, holding me up, holding me still as his mouth worked in maddening, worshipful circles. Every flick of his tongue, every drag of his lips, was a question, a discovery, like he was memorizing the way I trembled, the way my breath hitched when he—oh God—when he didthatagain.
His fingers joined the party, two of them sliding inside me with a confidence that made my toes curl. He crooked them exactly right, finding that spot that had my vision whiting out at the edges, my nails scraping against his scalp. The pressure built, coiling tight and unbearable, until I was nothing but need and heat and the rough sound of his name on my lips.
“Daniel,please?—”
He groaned against me, the vibration sending me spiraling, and then I came apart, my body clenching around his fingers as the orgasm crashed over me. Wave after wave of it, relentless, until I was nothing but a trembling, gasping mess beneath him. He didn’t let up, his mouth and hands working in tandem, drawing out every last shudder, every aftershock, until my skin was slick with sweat and my limbs were heavy and boneless.
Only then did he lift his head, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh, right where my pulse still fluttered wildly, before dragging his tongue over his lower lip. The sight of him—like this, undone and hungry andmine—sent another weak pulse of desire through me.
“Fuck, Ellie,” he breathed, his voice rough. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Hurry up and die already.”
Daniel’s laughter was warm against my skin, thick with disbelief, like he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that this—us—was actually happening. Then his expression shifted, his dark eyes locking onto mine as he guided himself to my entrance. The first press of him was slow, deliberate, and we both exhaled sharply as he pushed inside, inch by torturous inch. My body stretched to accommodate him, the burn of it melting into something so good it bordered on pain. His hips finally settled against mine, flush and heavy, and for a heartbeat, we stilled. The air between us was thick with the sound of our ragged breathing, the weight of everything we’d never said aloud but had alwaysknown.
Then he moved.
There was nothing careful about it. No practiced rhythm, no polished technique—merely raw, desperate need. Years of friendship, of stolen glances and swallowed words, of frustration and longing, all of it crashing together in this moment. His fingers laced through mine, pinning my hands to the mattress as he drove into me, each thrust harder than the last, the bed frame groaning in protest beneath us. I hooked my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him with every roll of my hips. The room was a blur of heat and motion, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air, the slick sound of our bodies moving together filling the silence between our gasps.
His voice was rough, broken. “Ellie, I?—”
I didn’t let him finish. I couldn’t. Not when I was already teetering on the edge, my body coiled so tight I thought I might shatter. “Now,” I begged, my nails raking down his back. “Please, Daniel,now!”
His mouth crashed onto mine, swallowing my cries as he buried himself deep and came with a shuddering groan. The heat of him spilling inside me sent me tumbling over the edgeagain, my back arching off the bed as pleasure ripped through me in waves. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my thighs trembling around his waist as we rode it out together, breathless and tangled andfinallywhole.
After, he collapsed beside me, one arm slung over my waist, his chest heaving.
I turned my head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Well. That was?—”
“Don’t.” His voice was muffled against my hair. “Don’t ruin it.”
I grinned into the dark. “Wouldn’t dream of it,husband.”
The lamp threw a warm circle on the ceiling. His arm was around me, my head on his chest, and I listened to his heartbeat slow back down to something approaching normal.
