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“I should go,” she panted, still moving against me, her pussy lips parting around the ridge of my cock through our clothes, juices seeping out to drench her shorts and smear against my jeans.

“No.” The word came out more growl than speech, raw with need. I pulled her back down, capturing her mouth again, sucking on her lower lip hard enough to draw a whimper.

This kiss was different. Three months of almost-touches and interrupted moments and middle-of-the-night texts all crashed together. I kissed her with the desperation of a drowning man who’d finally found air, devouring her mouth as my tongue fucked in and out, mimicking what I wanted to do to other parts of her. She met me with equal need, grinding down against me with purpose now, her clit rubbing insistently over my bulge, the wet fabric squelching faintly with each thrust.

The friction was incredible even through our clothes. Her arousal was slick and hot, coating my jeans as she humped me shamelessly. My control frayed with every rock of her hips, my cock twitching, balls drawing tight as pre-cum oozed steadily.

My mouth didn’t want to leave her skin. I kissed across her jaw, down her throat, finding that spot where neck met shoulder that made her shudder, her pulse racing under my lips. I sucked hard there, marking her with a wet pop, tasting the salt of her sweat mixed with her natural musk.

“You feel so fucking good, love,” I grunted against her ear, my breath hot and ragged. “And you taste delicious. I can sense how wet you are, almost dripping all over my cock.”

I nipped at her earlobe, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and she shattered, her body convulsing against me as her orgasm hit. Her cunt clenched rhythmically, juices gushing out to flood her shorts and part of my lap as she cried out softly, biting my shoulder to muffle it. The feeling of her coming apart in my arms, the little sounds she tried to stifle, wet gasps and whimpers, the tremor of her thighs squeezing my hips, all of it triggered my own release. My balls tightened, cock jerking violently as cum erupted from me in thick spurts, filling my boxers with hot, sticky ropes that wanted to leak out and mix with her slick on the fabric between us.

She slumped against me afterward, boneless and breathing hard, her forehead resting on my shoulder, damp hair tickling my neck. I held her close, hands gentle on her waist now, fingers tracing lazy circles over the sweat-slick skin peeking from her hem, trying to memorize every second. The way her chest heaved, nipples still peaked against me, the residual twitch of her pussy against my softening cock.

“So,” she whispered against my neck, sounding thoroughly spent, her voice laced with a sated rasp. “That just happened.”

I chuckled, the sound rumbling through my chest into hers, vibrating where our bodies pressed together. “It seems so.”

What I wanted to say was that it was the best fucking thing that had happened to me since Noa was born. That I could spend every day for the rest of my life kissing her and still be starving for more. That three months of wanting her had only been the beginning.

Instead, I just held her as she snuggled closer.

“You tired, love?” I asked softly.

She hummed agreement, already half asleep from the emotional whiplash of the evening.

“Stay. Please.” I wasn’t above begging. Hell, I’d get on my knees right now if it meant keeping her here. “You can sleep in my bed. Promise I’ll stay on the couch.”

She didn’t even open her eyes. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

I stood carefully, lifting her with me. She wrapped around me instinctively, trusting me to carry her through the dark house. I knew every step by heart, could navigate to my room with my eyes closed, which was good because I couldn’t look away from her face.

I set her on my bed gently, watching as she immediately curled into my pillow. Before I could stop myself, I leaned down and pressed one more kiss to her lips. Soft. Sweet. A promise.

She melted deeper into the mattress, a content sigh escaping.

“Goodnight, Sam. Dream of me,” I whispered.

“You too,” she mumbled into the pillow.

I paused at the doorway, drinking in the sight of her in my bed. Where she belonged. Where I wanted her every night for the rest of forever.

“I already do,” I admitted to the darkness, and caught her smile as I left.

19

— • —

Sam

I came downstairs around 9:30 the next morning, still wearing his clothes from last night. The smell of coffee and pancakes hit me first, but the sight of Tyson at the stove hit harder.

He was shirtless, the bastard. He knew what he was doing. He was just standing there in low-slung sweatpants, spatula in hand, muscles in his back shifting as he flipped a pancake. The scar on his pectoral caught the morning light. His hair was still mussed from sleep and from my fingers, and the memory of pulling it while his mouth was on my neck sent heat pooling between my thighs. Again.

“Hi,” I said, biting my lip to contain the stupid grin threatening to split my face.