I set a pace that is fast, deep, and entirely focused on her, my forearm braced on the cabinet above her head for leverage, my other hand gripping the curve of her thigh, holding her exactly where I want her. She is flushed from her collarbone to her cheeks, one hand knotted in my shirt at the shoulder, the other pressed over her own mouth to keep herself quiet, her eyes squeezing shut and then flying open like she can’t decide which is better, the darkness behind her eyelids or the sight of me above her.
“Eyes on me,” I remind her, and her gaze snaps back to mine, glassy, blown wide and beautiful.
“Will.”
My name in her mouth has always undone me, but like this, fractured, breathy, and private, it undoes something structural, something load-bearing, deep in my chest.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her, because I do, because I always will, and I grind deeper, working her toward the edge with thesteady, deliberate pressure of my body against hers. I can feel the moment she stops trying to hold back, the way her breath goes ragged, her thighs tremble, her grip on my shirt goes white-knuckled, and I chase it with her, working harder, driving her higher.
“Come with me,” I murmur against her temple, lips pressed there. “Give it to me, Mills. Rightnow.”
She fractures beautifully and silently, head thrown back, teeth sunk into her lower lip hard enough to leave a mark, body clenching around me in long, rolling waves that pull every rational thought right out of my skull. The feeling of her coming apart around me is staggering. It reaches down into me and yanks something loose, primitive andmine.
I follow her over the edge with my face buried in her neck and a low, controlled groan pressed into her skin, my whole body shuddering through the release, my hips jerking deep, pleasure burning out from the base of my spine in overwhelming pulses until there’s nothing left. “Fuck,” I growl through gritted teeth, trying to keep my voice quiet.
We stay there for a long moment, both breathing hard, both wrecked.
Her fingers have moved from my shirt to the back of my neck, and she’s tracing slow circles, soft and absentminded, the way she always touches me when the urgency has burned off and what’s left is just this, just us.
“Hi…” She giggles against my cheek, in the same way she did the first time we did this.
Something enormous moves through me, and I smile at her, then lean in, pressing my lips to hers. “Hey.”
“Your breakfast is burning out here,” Jonas yells from the kitchen.
Millie’s eyes widen, her head dropping into the crook of my shoulder as we both try to contain our laughter.
“Coming right out,” she calls as I pull out of her.
Jonas doesn’t answer, but we both smirk as I reach for her pajama pants and hand them to her. She smiles at me, sliding them back on, her face turning bright red with embarrassment.
“He knows,” she whispers.
I lean in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Yeah… he knows. He kinda left the room so we could, Mills.”
Millie grimaces, placing her head in her hands. “We didn’t use a condom,” she whispers.
I inhale, shaking my head at how fucking stupid I was. “Shit, sorry. I got caught up. After the ceremony, I’ll take you to the pharmacy.”
She nods. “I think I’d better get on the pill or something.”
“Yeah, probably a good id—”
“This shit is going to turn nuclear if you don’t get out here soon, Millie!” Jonas yells.
We both chuckle, and Millie leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. She turns to walk out, but I grab her hand, stopping her. She furrows her brows, but I smooth her hair down for her, making sure she is respectable before she heads out.
He knows what we were doing, but he doesn’t need to see the evidence.
“Thank you,” she says, then she turns and walks out of the pantry, letting out a heavy breath as she goes to the kitchen, which is filling with smoke. She rushes over to the stove, switches it off, and throws the pan into the sink.
I walk out behind her, my eyes shifting to Jonas, who says and does nothing, just keeps his eyes forward on his paper—simply turning another page. I grin, thanking every fucking thing I can that he hasn’t lunged across the table to beat the shit out of me.
I move to the table, taking a seat, saying nothing.
Millie brings over what she can salvage for breakfast. And then, as though nothing had even happened, we eat breakfastwith Jonas at the table, the three of us, eggs, toast, and the orange juice Millie poured into glasses with the focused generosity she brings to everything domestic. Jonas eats unhurried, reads his paper, and makes occasional observations about nothing in particular, like he’s already decided the details of this morning are none of his business and intends to keep it that way. The slight crinkle at the corner of his eye when Millie sets down the butter dish is the only indication that he is absolutely, entirely aware ofeverythingthat happened in that pantry, and has chosen to be a gentleman about all of it.
I like him.
