“I love you.” The words come easily now. “I’ve never been more sure.”
That’s all he needs.
He pulls my dress over my head in one smooth motion, and then his hands are everywhere— sliding up my ribs, cupping my breasts through my bra, making me whimper. I fumble with his belt, clumsy with need, and he helps me, shedding his clothes with an efficiency that should not be as attractive as it is.
Then we’re skin-to-skin, and I was wrong. I forget how to breathe. Oxygen seems absent from the room. It’s spinning my head and twisting my gut.
He’s beautiful. All lean muscle and warm skin, and when he settles between my thighs, I can feel how much he wants me. How much he needs this.
“Chloe.” My name is a prayer on his lips. “God, you’re perfect.”
“I’m really not.” But I feel perfect under his gaze. Feel wanted and cherished and claimed.
“You are.” He kisses me, slow and deep, while his hands map my body like he’s memorizing every curve. “You’re everything.”
I reach down between us, wrapping my hand around him, and he makes a sound that’s half-curse, half-prayer. “Chloe, I—if you keep doing that?—”
“Then don’t make me stop.” I stroke him, watching his face, loving the way his jaw clenches. Loving the way he’s losing control.
“Condom,” he grits out. “I need—drawer?—”
I release him long enough for him to reach over and fumble in the nightstand. He’s shaking as he rolls it on, and the sight of him —this strong, controlled man coming undone for me—makes heat pool low in my belly.
“Come here,” I whisper, pulling him back down.
He settles between my thighs again, and this time when he kisses me, it’s different. Softer. Reverent.
“I love you,” he says. “I need you to know that. This isn’t just— Iloveyou, Chloe.”
“I know.” I cup his face, looking into his dark eyes. “I love you too. Now please?—”
He enters me in one slow thrust, and we both freeze, breathing hard.
“Shit. You okay?” he asks, his voice strained, jaw tight.
“More than okay.” I wrap my legs around him, taking him deeper. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” My whole body shakes, a precursor to what’s quickly approaching.
Thank God, he doesn’t.
He moves, and I move with him, and it’s not gentle or slow. It’s desperate and raw and perfect. He buries his face in my neck, and I can feel him trembling, feel him fighting for control.
“Let go,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
He makes a broken sound against my skin, and then he’s moving harder, faster, like he can’t help himself. Like he needs this as much as I do. I meet him thrust for thrust, my nails digging into his shoulders, chasing the pleasure building inside me.
“Chloe.” He lifts his head, watching me. “I want to see you. When you— I need to see you.”
The intensity in his eyes pushes me higher, and I’m so close, trembling on the edge. He reaches between us, his thumb finding the perfect spot, rubbing, teasing, brushing, and I shatter.
I cry out his name, my body arching off the bed, and he follows me over, groaning into my neck as he comes apart.
We collapse together, breathing hard, tangled in each other.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Can’t move. We just lie there, hearts pounding against each other, coming back to ourselves.
“Holy hell,” Jonah finally says, his voice wrecked.
I laugh, breathless. “Yeah. That was?—”
