Just mine.
Even if it’s just for tonight.
The thought hits like a strike of lightning, sharp and final, and I don’t fight it.
I can’t.
I don’t want to.
I crash into her. Crush her lips beneath mine.
My mouth takes hers, hard and hungry, like I’ve been starved for three years and she’s the only thing that’s ever going to feed me again.
She gasps against me, and I swallow the sound, deepening the kiss, angling my head to take more, to feel more, to remind myself she’s real.
Fuck.
She tastes exactly like I remember.
Cinnamon apples.
Sugar.
Sex.
And something darker beneath it all—something that’s always been just hers.
“Fuck, Ezzy,” I rasp into her mouth.
Her hands clutch at me, fingers digging into my arms, my shoulders, like she’s holding on just as hard as I am.
Good, because I’m not letting go.
Not now.
Not tonight.
I haul her against me, arms wrapping around her like I’m claiming her all over again, pressing her soft body into every hard inch of mine.
And Christ—she fits.
Still fits.
Like she was made for me.
Esme is thick. Soft. Curvy in a way that drives me half out of my damn mind.
My hands move without permission, dragging over her sides, her hips, mapping her like I’ve been waiting to relearn every inch.
She arches into me, a soft sound slipping from her lips, and it hits me low—straight to the gut.
To something primal.
Something that’s always belonged to her.
My grip tightens.
“Fuck, Ezzy, I missed you,” I growl, the words ripped out of me before I can stop them.
