So I leaned in. She met me halfway. Her lips were soft, searching. Not desperate, not afraid—hungry for comfort, for affirmation. I poured myself into the kiss, my fingers threading through her soft hair.
Her hand curled at the back of my neck. I coaxed her closer, deepening the kiss until her breathing hitched and she climbed unselfconsciously into my lap, knees pressing on either side of my hips. The room faded until it was only the scratch of her shirt against my knuckles, the slide of her thighs over mine, her warmth so close and insistent I could barely form thoughts.
When I finally broke away for air, her eyes found mine, heavy-lidded and dazed, but clear with a sort of easy trust that hit harder than any plea. Moving her gently aside, I stood. And, taking her hand, I led her down the narrow hall to her bedroom. Now our bedroom.
The room was cool and softly lit, familiar in a way that made my chest warm. A hand-stitched quilt lay folded at the foot of the bed, and a novel with the spine broken sat on the nightstand. I wanted to memorize the way her presence had soaked into every fabric fiber, made the air thicker, safer.
We collapsed onto the bed, and I threaded my hands beneath her shirt. Her breath caught, and her hips tilted into my waiting palms. I moved slowly, unhurriedly. There was no rush. I wanted to taste every patch of skin, to make her feel seen.
I peeled away the shirt, lips following every inch of revealed skin. The thin tank top came next—her tips pebbling beneath the soft cotton, a flush painting up her chest. I paused to mouth along her collarbone, relishing the goose bumps that danced across her shoulders. I unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, her chest bare and rising in shallow, expectant pants.
I palmed both breasts, running my thumbs over her peaks, watching them tighten beneath my attention. She arched into me, lips parting for a gasp. My shaft strained against my pants. Still, I didn’t hurry.
Her fingers fumbled at my shirt buttons, urgency flickering through her now. I kissed her—slow, messy, tongues sliding, bodies fitting together the way two people fit when they’ve been lonely for too long. I pulled back only long enough to tug my shirt overhead, shivering when her nails grazed my ribs.
When she was naked beneath me—shorts and panties peeled away, her legs splayed invitingly—I kneeled between her thighs. She watched me, wide-eyed and hungry, but trusting. Vulnerable in the best way. I pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another, mapping my way up, savoring her scent and heat. By the time I reached her slick seam, she was already trembling, desperate.
I licked a slow stripe through her folds, savoring the taste, the way she immediately gripped my hair, hips pressing up in silent demand. I smiled against her, dragged my tongue in lazy circles, teasing as she arched and bucked, her thighs trembling at my temples.
“Please, Chase,” she whispered, half-destroyed already.
I swirled my tongue slowly, holding her gaze when she looked down. She closed her eyes with a breathy moan, and I let her climb, then held her at the edge until she was breathless, shaking, her voice a series of broken syllables.
When she tumbled over, her orgasm hit hard. Her thighs clamped around my head, back bowing off the mattress. She bit the inside of her wrist to keep from being too loud. I drank in every sound, every pulse, every helpless buck of her hips. Only when her body went limp did I crawl up, licking a final stripe across her thigh, pressing gentle kisses up her belly, chest, throat.
I lay beside her, hand sliding up her ribcage as she blinked back to herself, skin flushed and glowing, eyes shining with a strange sort of wonder.
“Holy hell,” she whispered, still catching her breath, “you don’t play fair.”
I grinned, nipping her earlobe. Then I rolled toward the nightstand and tugged it open. Reached for the condom box. It was suspiciously light.
I upended it. Empty.
Harper’s breath hitched, then broke into an embarrassed laugh. “With all the chaos, I haven’t made it to the store.”
I propped myself on one elbow, meeting her gaze. “Moving in together does imply exclusivity, right? I’m safe, baby.”
“Me too.” She didn’t look away. “Only you, Chase. God, only you.”
I smoothed a thumb over her cheek, overcome with a happiness so raw it nearly hurt. “What about pregnancy?”
She gave a tiny shrug, lips quirking. “It’s not prime time in my cycle. And at nearly thirty-five, not a walking fertility charm either.” Then, quieter, naked in a way I hadn’t seen before, “Is… is that okay?”
A flicker of something flashed through me. A future, maybe—her belly swelling with possibility, this house filled with more kid laughter. But it passed, replaced by a deeper ache, for her, for this. I kissed her, all conviction. “It’s more than okay. Look at us. We already have an amazing family.”
Relief washed across her features. “I’ll call my doctor to get on the pill.”
She reached for me and pulled me down to her. This time, when I pressed inside, there was nothing between us. She was hot, tight, the welcome of her body making megroan. I braced myself on my forearms, feeling every small gasp, every ripple of pleasure as she stretched around me. Each thrust was like a homecoming. She wrapped her legs around my waist and kept me close, arms looped behind my neck so our mouths never parted for long.
We rocked together. Slow at first, savoring every draw, every push, every inch buried and welcomed. She scraped her nails down my back, rolled her hips to meet me, eyes locked on mine so I couldn’t hide. For a while, I let her lead, my hand clutching her hip, her knee hitched high.
Then, desperate for more, I shifted her onto her side and pushed in deep, hands running from the arch of her hip to the swell of her breast. She clutched at my forearm, moaning as I filled her again and again, chasing the crest.
It felt endless, bottomless—neither of us giving ground. We fell apart together, harsh breaths, muffled, unashamed cries. I rolled onto my back, taking her with me, and she held me close as we shuddered through the final wave. She pulsed around me, body clenching wildly, and I let go, spilling into her with a hoarse groan.
Afterward, we lay entwined with each other, still pulsing, still joined. The room was warm and quiet again. We drifted on the edge of sleep, her head on my shoulder, my hand resting possessively over her heart.
“I love you,” I whispered into the small dark space between us.
Her lips curved against my chest. “Good. Because I’m keeping you. I love you too.”
I tightened my arms around her and let myself believe it. The world spun down to this bed, this body, this breath. I let myself drift with her, claimed, at peace. Tomorrow would bring what it brought. But tonight, we’d finally made it home.
