I haven’t heard it like this in years.
Not free.
Not mine.
“Hold on to me,” I instruct, lifting her up with my other arm wrapped around her waist.
Her legs go around my hips.
And the whole time I keep finger-fucking her as I walk us to the bed.
“Still so bossy,” she teases, her fingers dragging over my shoulders, down my back, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
That’s all the permission I need.
Not that I would’ve stopped.
But hearing it?
Feeling it?
Yeah, it fuels something dark and possessive inside me.
“You like that about me, Ezzy,” I murmur against her neck, my mouth finding skin I know by memory alone. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
She shivers.
I rub her clit with my thumb in time with my still-pumping fingers.
She arches into me.
And that’s answer enough.
I move us—fast, purposeful—arranging her on the bed, barely taking in the suite around us.
It’s massive.
Glass walls.
City lights pouring in.
Luxury everywhere.
Doesn’t matter.
Could be a damn barn for all I care.
Because she’s here.
That’s all that matters.
I lay her down, following immediately, caging her in, my body covering hers like I’m staking a claim I never should’ve lost.
My gaze drops to her face.
Flushed.
Eyes heavy.
