My ankles crossed at the small of his back. His mouth at my throat, his breath warm, his hand sliding down to my hip and pulling me into every thrust.
“Jax.”
“Mhm.”
“Look at me.”
He lifts his head.
His eyes are dark and steady and he is here, fully here, and I am here, fully here, and we are looking at each other with absolutely nothing between us.
No armor. No script. No exit math. No professional veneer.
Chosen.
That’s the word.
This is what happens when both people stop circling and finally land.
“Nova.”
“Yeah.”
“Stay with me.”
“I’m staying.”
“Say it.”
“I’m staying. I’m staying. I’m staying.”
The third time gets him. He makes a sound against my throat and his hips move faster and I roll mine to meet him and we find a rhythm I have not found with anyone else in my life — easy, deep, the kind that builds without anyone steering.
He gets one hand between us. Finds where I need him.
I’m already close.
He knows.
“You feel me?” he says.
“I feel you.”
“You with me?”
“With you.”
“Come for me, Nova.”
He says it quietly. Not as a command. As a statement of where we are.
I come.
I come with him inside me and his thumb against me and his forehead against mine and I am still looking at him when I come and he is still looking at me and his hand is steady at my jaw and my whole body is shaking and I am still here, still here, still here.
He follows me a second later.
Buries his face in my neck. Says my name once, soft, into my skin.
