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With fingers knotted in my hair, his forehead crashes to mine; he has a look in his eyes that’s pure possession. Primal heat. “No one else,” he rasps, mimicking my words. “Only you.”
I think he’s telling me he hasn’t been with anyone else either, but I’m too drunk on the feel of his cock sliding in and out of me to question it. I cry out with each thrust. He’s hitting such a delicious spot from this angle.
But as the tingles swell and crest, he slows to a stop. He pulls out and moves off me. “Come here.”
As I lift up, my hair is in disarray, curtaining my eyes, and my cheeks feel hot and flushed. Brant scoots backward until he’s backed up to the far wall. My gaze settles on his rock-hard erection as he strokes it, waiting for me to shake off my haze and climb back on.
I move forward on my knees, unclasping my bra as I join him. The moment I’m within reach, Brant grabs me and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him, my hands planting on his shoulders for steadiness. His cock teases me, and I rock against it.
His eyes flutter closed. “It’s always so urgent between us,” he murmurs, hissing through his teeth as my hand reaches between us to grip his cock. “So hard, so dirty. I always fuck you like it’s going to be the last time I’m ever going to fuck you.”
“Maybe I like it a little dirty,” I confess, rubbing the pad of my thumb over his wet tip. “It’s hot. You make me come so hard.”
He groans, then snatches me by the hips and lifts me up until I’m level with the head of his cock. Then he pistons into me and I sink down, throwing my head back with a sharp cry.
Brant wraps his arms around my back and tugs me close, his face buried between my breasts. His nose tickles the chain of my necklace as he murmurs, “I want to go slow. Adore you. Fuck you for hours, like we have all the time in the world because we do…” I grip his hair, his tongue dipping out to taste me. “We do, Junebug.”
“I missed you,” I whimper. “I missed you so much.”
“I’m done missing you. I’m done sleeping alone. I’m done wishing for a future with you when you’re still here.” His head falls back against the wall as I ride him, swiveling my hips and leaning forward, our lips touching. “I…” He thrusts up. “Am…” He thrusts again. “Done.”
I kiss him hard, frenzied, full of passion and need, holding his face between my hands as I bounce in his lap, emotion fusing with lust. A potent combination. When I pull back, I ask, “You…you haven’t been with anyone else? In two years?”
“No.”
“But you’re…”
“What? A man?” He peppers kisses down my jaw and nibbles my neck, his fingers raking through my hair as our bodies slap and grind together. “And men have needs?”
I nod, tilting my head to the side to give him better access.
“I’m your man, June. And the only thing I’ve ever needed is you.” Kissing and biting his way up the side of my throat, he nips my earlobe and says, “Never underestimate a man willing to wait forever for the woman he loves.”
I want to cry.
Cupping his face between my hands, I move his head back until we’re eye to eye. His pupils dilate, the browns and golds and greens of his irises swirling with faithful devotion. “I love you, Brant. I love you…over the rainbow and back again.”
A smile paints his lips as he moves in for a kiss. “I love you, Junebug. More than you’ll ever know.”
We go slow.
We go hard.
We go fast, brutal, sweet, and kind.
We make love for hours, savoring, cherishing, appreciating, until we’re sore, bruised, and satiated. We come. We cry.
We heal.
He breaks me apart and puts me back together again.
And then we fall asleep, tangled and spent, knowing that for the very first time, we don’t need to fear what comes next.
Dawn spills in between the hotel curtains, spotlighting the man sprawled beside me. He’s on his back with a knee drawn up, head tilted slightly toward me. His bottom half is only partially covered by a rumpled bedsheet, while one arm is draped over his middle and the other is propped above his head. The epitome of sexy bedhead draws my hand to his mop of hair, my fingertips dancing through the soft strands. He doesn’t even stir as I gaze down at him, coiling a curl around my index finger.
He looks so peaceful, so innocent.
For a moment, he’s just a boy again. He’s the boy who stole my heart before I was old enough to even consider giving it to anyone else. With floppy bangs, knee-weakening dimples, and a stalwart soul, he’s fighting off invisible monsters in our backyard, tucking me into bed with a lullaby, and reading me storybooks beneath our childhood tree house.
