And then, inch by inch, he pushes deeper, filling me completely. A broken moan slips from my lips, my body trembling as he moves, slow and deliberate, his hips rolling in a way that makes my toes curl. He never stops whispering to me, his voice hushed, reverent.
“You’re my good girl,” he praises, his lips brushing my ear, his words wrapping around me like a caress. “Taking me so well. Letting me love you like this.”
I arch into him, my body attuned to his, moving with him, lost in the rhythm of him, the feel of him, the way he loves me—not just with his body, but with his words, his hands, the way he never stops touching me, never stops holding me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever known.
And when the pleasure finally shatters, breaking over me in waves, his arms tighten around me, his body trembling as he follows, his release spilling into the condom as he buries his face against my neck.
He doesn’t let go.
Instead, he gathers me closer, rolling us so I’m tucked against his chest, his heart pounding beneath my palm. His lips find my hair, his breath warm against my skin as he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”
His hands move over me, soothing, stroking, worshiping. He kisses my shoulder, my forehead, every place he can reach, his voice a soft murmur of praise. “So proud of you, sweetheart. You were so good for me.”
A strong arm hooks around my waist, pulling me flush against him as his other hand smooths over my stomach, then lower, between my legs, where I’m still sensitive, still trembling. I gasp, but he only hushes me, kissing my temple as his fingers move with infinite tenderness, cleaning me up, taking care of me in every way.
When he’s done, he tugs the blankets up, cocooning us in warmth.
“You okay?” he asks, tipping my chin up so I have to meet his gaze. There’s so much in his eyes—love, devotion, an unwavering need to take care of me.
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
His expression softens as he brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”
And when I finally drift to sleep, it’s with his arms around me, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, and the absolute certainty that I am loved beyond measure.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nysa
The first thing I feel when I wake up is warmth. The second is soreness, a deep, delicious ache between my thighs. I blink, slowly coming back to myself, my bare body tangled in soft sheets, the scent of sex, sweat, and Hopper lingering in the air.
Right, it wasn’t a dream. A sweet, erotic dream. Nope. I did have sex with Hopper Timberbridge and it was probably the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.
He’s next to me, his broad, powerful body sprawled across the bed, one arm stretched out like he was holding me in his sleep.
My breath catches. He looks so . . . peaceful.
So different from the man he is when he’s awake—when he’s bearing the weight of everything alone, when his eyes are keen and assessing, always bracing for the next fight. But here, like this, there’s no armor, no guarded edges. Just him. And for a moment, I let myself feel it—the quiet pull toward someone who’s never had the chance to rest.
Here, in sleep, he’s just Hopper. My Hopper. The man who fucked me into this bed an hour ago, maybe. The man who makes me ache in the best way possible. The man I can’t stop wanting, even when I’ve tried so hard.
I shift slightly, propping myself on one elbow, studying him. His tattoos stretch over his muscled arms, ink and skin blending in perfect contrast. I trace a fingertip over them, following the lines, the ridges of his muscles, the hard planes of his chest.
His stomach is tight, defined abs leading to the deep V that disappears beneath the sheets. Maybe even lower . . . I swallow hard, my thighs clenching as my eyes drop to where the blanket barely conceals what I already know is there.
What I took inside me not even an hour ago.
What wrecked me, filled me, stretched me to my limit.
What I need to taste.
Hopper shifts, a soft exhale leaving his lips, and then his eyes open—lazy, dark, hooded with sleep and heat. I freeze for a second, my fingertips still resting against his abs. His lips curve into a smirk.
“Can’t stop touching me, can you, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, deep, still thick with sleep.
I shiver. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.”
He smirks, tilting his head slightly, watching me.
