Today, he’s being downright ferocious.
His hands settle at my waist, pulling me back against him with a confidence that sends a warm shiver down my spine.
“You’re going to make me late,” I mutter.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he replies lazily.
I turn my head slightly, catching the playful gleam in his eyes.
He looks entirely too pleased with himself.
I sigh dramatically, though the smile tugging at my lips gives me away.
“This is harassment,” I inform him.
“From your husband?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Highly unlikely.”
He finally loosens his hold just enough for me to turn around, and the moment I face him, he steals a quick kiss, completely unapologetic.
The warmth in my chest blooms instantly.
For all the chaos we survived…for all the darkness we walked through….
Moments like this feel like quiet miracles.
Normal life.
Peace.
And the man in front of me—still maddening, still stubborn, still impossibly devoted—is the reason I get to have it.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes, trying to maintain a playful defiance even as my heart hammers against my ribs. “But only for a few minutes. And don’t mess up my makeup.”
He’s on me before I can change my mind, his movement a blur of calculated intent. He presses me back against the wall, the solid strength of his body pinning me in place. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive column of my neck, his breath ghosting over my skin and sending a violent shiver through me.
His hands, rough and warm, move with a practiced urgency. They find the hem of my skirt, carefully bunching the fabric upward until it rests at my waist. I feel the cool air hit my thighs for only a second before he yanks down my panties, his knuckles grazing my hips. I shut my eyes, my head thumping back against the wall, allowing his ministrations to sway me into a familiar, heavy desire.
He doesn’t stop at the neck; his mouth moves to my shoulder, his teeth grazing the skin just enough to make me moan. One hand stays on my hip, anchoring me, while the other slides between us. His fingers brush against my center, already slick and aching for him.
“You’re always so ready for me, Ellie,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice a dark, vibrating low.
I reach out, my fingers curling into his hair, pulling him closer. The playfulness is gone, replaced by a raw, immediate need that burns through my initial hesitation. I don’t care about the time or the makeup anymore. I just need him to fill the space between us, to claim me once again in the way only he can.
Then, he enters me slowly, his body a heavy weight that stretches me inch by inch. The pace is maddening—a torturous crawl that forces me to feel every ridge, every pulse, and every tightening muscle as he slides deep inside.
“Mike, please,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my knuckles white with the strain of holding on. “Hurry. I need you to move.”
“No,” he murmurs against my jaw, his voice thick with a dark, controlled patience. “I want to take my time. I want to feel every bit of you.”
He pulls out, almost entirely, leaving me cold and aching for the contact, before he slams back in. But even the slam is executed in slow motion, a punishingly gradual invasion that makes my toes curl and my breath hitch in my throat. It’s a rhythmic, agonizing stretch that builds a pressure in my core I can’t escape.
I’m a mess. My head thrashes against the wall, my hair sticking to my damp forehead as I let out a broken, high-pitched moan. I try to thrust my hips back to meet him, to force a faster rhythm, but he keeps his hands locked on my waist, pinning me to his preferred tempo.
“Look at me, Ellie,” he commands, his eyes burning into mine, dark with a hunger he’s barely restraining.
I open my eyes, my vision blurred by tears of frustration and pleasure. He watches the way my expression shatters with every agonizingly slow stroke. He’s ruining me, stripping away my composure until I’m nothing but raw nerves and desperate whimpers, trapped in the slow-burning fire he’s ignited between us.
Without warning, his control snaps. He suddenly increases his tempo, the slow, agonizing torture replaced by a fierce, driving energy. He pounds into me, his hips slamming against mine with a heavy, rhythmic thud that echoes through the small space. I scream, the sound ripped from my lungs as the sudden change in pace sends me spiraling over the edge.
