“You’re...”
I grit my teeth. “Fuck, yeah.”
She pulls me closer, pressing her heels into the backs of my thighs and takes the last inch herself. My forehead drops to hers. I’m completely inside her, and the room has reduced to the sound of our breathing and the place where our bodies meet and the impossible, devastating fact that I am Jenna Calloway’s first, and she is mine in every way that matters.
I hold still. Not because I want to—God, not because I want to—but because this moment is hers, and I won’t take a second of it away.
“Move,” she whispers. “Please.”
I move.
Slow. A long, deliberate withdrawal followed by a deep return that makes her gasp and grab my shoulders. I set a steady, patient rhythm—built for endurance, built for her. Her body learns mine quickly, adjusting and optimizing, and within moments, she’s meeting every thrust, rolling her hips to match my pace.
Her sounds change. Quiet gasps turn into moans, and the moans deepen, while her fingers drag down my back hard enough to leave marks I’ll wear like medals.
“Faster,” she breathes.
I give her faster. The bed protests beneath us, but I don’t care. She wraps her arms and legs around me, holding on the way she held onto my jacket in the dark. Not clinging, but anchoring.
“Look at me.”
Her gaze meets mine, and I feel it everywhere—like a spark under my skin. Heat gathers low in my body, pressure building where we’re joined, underneath me, around me, with me in the most fundamental way two people can be with each other.
“You’re mine,” I say brokenly. “You know that.”
“I know.” Her voice cracks. “You’re mine too.”
I drop my forehead to hers and lose myself. My rhythm falters, going harder, deeper, chasing the pull building low in my spine. She’s close again. I can feel it in the way she tightens around me, the way her breathing fractures.
“Let go, Jen,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
She lets go.
She comes with my name on her lips, her body pulling tight around mine, and the sound of my name in her wrecked, unguarded voice drags me over the edge after her. I bury my face in her neck, coming hard, my vision flashing white as everything in me gives out.
We lie tangled. Her heartbeat hammers against my chest. We’re a wreck of sweat and trembling limbs and blurry vision, and I’ve never been more at peace in my life.
Her fingers drift over my shoulder, slow and absent, as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with all of this either.
“So that’s what the fuss is about,” she murmurs.
A laugh cracks out of me. I roll to my side and pull her against my chest. She fits against my body the way she fits into everything—completely. As if she were always supposed to be there and fate was just waiting for her to arrive.
“Jen.”
“Mmm?”
“You okay?”
She lifts her head. Her eyes are bright and wrecked and the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since she walked down that aisle. “I’m so far past okay that I need a new word for it.”
I kiss her forehead. Her nose. The corner of her mouth. The patch on her collarbone.
“Stay,” I murmur against her skin. The truest thing I’ve ever said.
She shifts closer, warm and bare and completely here with me. “I already am.”
I press one more kiss to her mouth before slipping out of bed, grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom. When I come back, she watches me—quiet, a little dazed—as I clean her gently, careful with her in a way I don’t think about. It just… happens.
