I go over every reason why he might want to keep separate apartments for another five months. The longer he’s quiet, the further down the road I go.
I finally dare to look up and catch him setting the note down with care, smoothing it on the table with reverence too large for something so small. The room feels warmer, thick with the faint scent of sugar and butter. Then his hands are on me, firm and certain, digging into my hips as he lifts me with an ease that steals my breath, settling us both onto the chair beside the table, me anchored in his lap.
“Hey—” I start, but it dissolves when his hand comes up, brushing my curls back from my face. He grazes my cheek, as if reacquainting himself with something he doesn’t want to get wrong again.
His gaze lingers on my mouth before it meets my eyes. Then back down to my lips. I lick them, tongue darting out through the fleshiest part. There is nothing rushed or careless about Nate leaning into the barely there space between us. Hebrushes his lips against mine, the strands of his beard prickling the corner of my mouth.
When he kisses me, it’s not the kind that steals breath—it gives it back, slow and deep, like he’s been holding it in for months and is only now letting himself exhale. He slides his hand to the back of my neck, holding me to him, while the other presses at my waist, drawing me closer.
I feel the warmth and the solidity of him in every signal firing. The way his mouth moves against mine, relearning something he never really forgot. When we finally pull back, it’s only just enough to breathe.
“Is that a yes?” I whisper, my fingers curled into his shirt.
His forehead rests against mine, his breath still uneven, lips brushing mine when he speaks. “I’ve wanted to live with you for so long.”
My chest tightens, tender, full and overwhelming all at once. I shift slightly in his lap, threading my fingers into his long hair. “Worth the wait?” I ask, searching his face.
He huffs a breath that almost turns into a laugh, nuzzling my nose, then tightens his hand at my waist and pulls me more firmly against him.
“More than,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw before tilting my face back toward his.
“Sweetheart.”
The word lands differently this time—nothing like habit, entirely like choice.
He finds my mouth again, deeper now, less careful because something between us has finally given way to what we were always supposed to be. His grip shifts, one hand sliding along my spine, pressing me closer as I feel the change in him, the heat building where restraint used to sit.
We’ve both been cautious all these months, checking that everything held. So the next time we came together wasn’t about the collapse but the rebuild. That night lingerssomewhere in the space between our bodies, a memory of heat born out of anger.
Tonight, his hands under my shirt, ghosting over my stomach, we close the distance we didn’t cross all this time. We break apart so my shirt comes off, then so his can too. I leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck and suck on the hollow of his throat while I rock against his hardness. When he stands, I wrap my legs around his waist, never breaking away from his kiss until he lays me on my bed, his warm body sprawled over mine.
Shaking in anticipation, I bury my fingers in his chest hair, massaging his nipple, and exploring the contrast between the cold ring and warmth of his skin. Nate groans on top of me, pushing the ridge of his cock into my center even through multiple layers of clothing.
“Get me naked,” I beg.
“First, tell me you want me like I want you,” he begs.
I cup his face and peck his lips. “I love you. I want you.”
“I see it, sweetheart,” he whispers against my neck as he drags my leggings and panties down, squeezing my skin between his fingers. “Everything you do to make sure I understand.”
I land my lips on top of his head, on his temple, any inch of skin I can get, while he finally pulls the clothing off my feet and throws it across the room. Eager and trembling, I reach for his jeans to get him naked. “You understand?”
“Yes,” he chokes out, naked on top of me, his thick cock weeping with arousal between my slick folds. “I’m your choice. Even when you’re working, even when you have to go and do research weeks at time.”
I snake my arm between us to grab around the head of his dick, thumb gathering his precum and stroking the crown. “And I see everything you do to keep me sane, the ways you care for me.” I dip his head between my pussy lips and coat itwith my own desire. I need him inside, but I don’t need it more than I need to get this right. “The way you love me makes me choose you every day.”
My hand slips from his cock when he slides in one smooth thrust, all the way to the hilt until his balls brush my ass.
We both moan, and he takes a second to meet my eyes. “Do you want me to pull out and wear a condom?”
“No,” I breathe out. “Make love to me, baby.”
He groans, then pulls his hips back until only the crown remains inside before pushing into me again. I moan, the sound breaking into a soft sigh. It only takes three thrusts before I can’t tell who’s whimpering and who’s gasping—everything dissolving into a tangle of tongue, teeth, and skin brushing skin.
His rhythm falters as he gets close, stilling when I take longer to follow. He shifts, finding the space between our bodies, his fingers brush over me, then he flicks my clit, drawing a sharper breath from my chest. I tilt my hips, meeting him from underneath, moving with him, and with each stroke, his palm presses against my pubic bone, and he angles his cock just right to hit that rough spot inside of me. The sensation builds, steady and consuming, until it’s all I can focus on.
He slides one hand up to cradle my head while the other stays between us. His mouth is just out of reach, so I turn my face, pressing a kiss to his wrist, then another—taking whatever contact I can, trying to show him what I feel in every way my body knows how.
