Her breath catches.
“Benji—” she whimpers my name, but I cut her off with another kiss.
Rougher this time, more desperate.
Because if she says anything else—anything that sounds like doubt or distance—I might lose my nerve.
And I’m done hesitating.
Done holding back.
My body is already there.
Hot. Hard. Ready.
My cock is like steel—but then again it has been ever since she rolled back into my life.
It’s always been like that with her.
Only her.
It’s never felt like this about anyone else.
Never will.
Because this woman?
She owns something in me I don’t even understand.
Something I never got back when she left.
My forehead presses to hers for a split second, both of us breathing hard, the air between us thick with everything we’re not saying.
Everything we should say.
But don’t.
Because this—this is louder than words.
My hands slide lower, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
Her breath stutters.
Her fingers tighten in my hair.
“You still feel like mine,” I growl, voice rough, almost questioning, like I need to hear it even if I don’t ask.
She doesn’t answer with words.
She leans into me.
Closer.
Choosing me.
And that’s it.
That’s all it takes.
