Her fingers curl around my wrist. “I’m sure.”
Those words settle somewhere deep enough to scare me. Instead of sitting with that feeling, I push inside her an inch.
She’s hot and wet. Heaven, made for me.
Being inside her with nothing between us threatens to overwhelm me. When I pull back it’s as much for my sanity as it is to give her a moment to adjust.
“Fuuuccckkk,” I mutter, sliding back home.
There’s only this. Just us, but mostly her. She’s the real magic in this room. I’m just lucky to get to experience it.
“Unreal,” I mutter.
She stretches around me, hugging me and pushing me to the edge of sanity. In this moment, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Which is dangerous as hell considering I’m still not convinced I’m capable of being what Aspen actually deserves.
She deserves stability. Someone good. A man without ghosts clawing at his heels. Not someone held together by scars and bad coping mechanisms.
I look down at where we are connected, marveling at how simple this is. “So right,” I murmur against her back. “Jesus Christ, Angel . . . you feel so right.”
And just like that, close suddenly isn’t close enough anymore. I need her facing me. I need more.
I pull out, bringing her with me and laying her back on the table. I lift her foot to the table, splaying her open for me.
“Oh, Emmet,” she whimpers. “It’s—your?—”
“Words, Angel,” I demand, slowing my thrusts as if that will clear her mind.
“I’m so full.”
I lean over her, dusting kisses up her sternum and neck to the corner of her mouth where I whisper, “You can take it.” Her mouth falls open when I bury myself inside her, a little rough. “Can’t you?”
Strands of hair fall across her face as she nods. “Yes. I want it.”
Here, I can give her all of me. My hands move her hair to the side, and my mouth finds her neck.
“You look like a dream taking me.”
I push my hips forward, a bruising grip on her hip to keep her from sliding up the table, my other hand snaking between her legs, finding her swollen clit.
She keens at the first brush of my fingers over it, and the pressure drives her crazy, so I flatten my thumb, giving her what she needs.
“You should see the way you’re swallowing me up.”
The more I talk, the wetter she gets, until the kitchen is an echo chamber of skin slapping, her incoherent sounds—mine pathetic and barely hanging on—and a wet suction that is downright indecent.
“Can you hear how badly you want this?”
“Emmett.” She reaches for me, pink touching her cheeks. Although I’d like to think it’s from exertion, I won’t risk leaving a fleck of doubt that I don’t crave all of it.
I sink all the way inside of her, only giving her shallow thrusts as I cover her, trapping the lobe of her ear between my teeth. “It’s music to my fucking ears.”
She melts into the table, putty under me as I strum her clit and drive her higher.
“Only thing better is the sweet noises you make when you let go for me.” Those I’ve committed memory.
“I’m close,” she warns.
“I know.” I grit my teeth, heat coiling down my spine and I try to hold back, but she’s too perfect, and it’s all too much, pushingup, up, upuntil it’s all I can do to hold on and get her there. “Angel.” I push rough circles with the pad of my thumb. “You need to come for me. Barely hanging on here.”
