“You feel so fucking good,” he groans into my neck. “Tight. Wet. Fuck, I could live inside you.”
My hands grip the wall harder as his pace grows punishing, the tension in his body coiling tighter and tighter.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he pants. “You bent over for me, dripping and ruined. Mine. Always fucking mine.”
A low, guttural moan tears from his throat as he slams into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His whole body shudders.
“Shit, fuck, Peach,” he gasps, his release crashing into him like a wave.
He stays there, chest pressed to my back, as we both try to hold our breath.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice softer now.
I turn my head, puckering my lips. He leans in immediately and kisses me, slow and sweet.
“I’m more than fine,” I say, smiling. “I needed that. But… we really need to go.” I laugh, still a little dazed.
He presses a kiss to the back of my shoulder, then pulls out gently, steadying me with both hands before reaching for mine.
“Let’s get cleaned up first,” he says, tugging me toward a door I hadn’t noticed before. “There’s a bathroom in here.”
I squint at him. I want to ask how he knew that, but maybe he saw it on the Airbnb listing.
He cleans me up first, every careful swipe of the clothsomehow both intimate and reverent, then moves to clean himself. I don’t move. I just watch him, awestruck and still wrapped in disbelief. How is he mine?
As he buckles his pants, he glances at me and catches the look on my face. His mouth curves into that dangerous, wicked smile.
“Careful,” he warns playfully. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll start thinking you want to wear my last name and carry my babies.”
I freeze.
He laughs, but it sounds more wary than anything else, before pulling me into a warm hug. “Should I be offended that what I just said made you look like I threatened to hit you with a brick?”
“Cal…”
But before I can get the rest out, he cuts me off “Do you like the place?”
I blink, thrown. “Uh… It’s beautiful,” I admit cautiously, glancing around. “But it’s huge. Who even needs this much space?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Then, quietly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, he says, “We do.”
I frown. “What?”
“I want a big family,” he says, almost shyly. “Not now. I know you’ve got things you want to do, and I’ll wait as long as you need me to. But one day? I want a house like this, full of kids. Our kids. I want noise and chaos and traditions and joy. Family vacations in France. Pancakes on Sundays. Matching pajamas at Christmas.”
My heart stops. Everything inside me stills.
“That’s why I bought this place,” he adds. “For us.”
I stare at him, struggling to breathe. “You… bought it?”
He nods, fingers lacing with mine. “We can talk more about it later,” he says softly. “Right now, your family’s waiting.”
“Calvin, wait…” I protest, but he’s already leading me out of the theater room.
My head is spinning. My heart’s racing.
