Lips parted.
Mine.
“Look at me,” I tell her, quieter now—but no less intense.
She listens.
Always did.
That’s what kills me.
Because even after everything—she still looks at me like that.
Like I matter.
Like I’m something worth holding onto.
I kneel between her splayed legs and run my gaze lovingly over every single inch of her.
She’s so goddamn beautiful.
So soft. Her skin is tanned from the sun, and flushed from us—from what we’re doing..
Her already large breasts are swollen with need, the dusky nipples puckered and begging for attention.
And her pretty pussy is glistening in the dim light—soft and wet and begging to be filled.
I don’t know what I want to do first, but the way she’s staring at my cock leaves very little room for doubt.
“Say it,” I press, my thumb brushing her jaw.
Her breath trembles.
“What?”
“That you’re mine,” I say, low and dangerous. “Say it.”
Her eyes widen just a fraction.
Not fear.
Something else.
Something deeper.
Then—her lips part.
“I’m yours, Benji. Only yours,” she whispers.
And that? That fucking breaks me.
Because I don’t deserve her.
But I’m taking her, anyway.
My mouth crashes back to hers, the kiss turning frantic, messy, desperate as everything I’ve been holding back finally snaps loose.
Three years.
