"You're staring," Sierra says, but she's smiling.
"Can't help it." I trace the curve of her breast with one finger, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. "You're even more beautiful than I remembered."
"I'm older. Heavier. I've had a baby—"
"You're perfect," I interrupt firmly. "And I'm going to spend the next hour proving it to you."
"We only have two hours total," Sierra points out, but her voice is shaky as my hands slide down to the button of her jeans.
"Then I better get started."
I help her off the counter long enough to shimmy out of her jeans, and then she's standing in front of me in just her bra and black panties.
She reaches for my belt, her fingers fumbling slightly with the buckle, and I help her, kicking off my jeans until we're both standing in my tiny kitchen in our underwear, breathing hard and staring at each other.
"Bedroom?" Sierra suggests, her voice rough with desire.
"Bedroom," I agree, taking her hand and leading her down the short hallway.
My bedroom is as sparse as the rest of the apartment—a queen bed with plain gray sheets, a single nightstand, and a dresser. No personal touches, no decorations. Just the essentials.
"This is very you," Sierra observes, looking around. "Minimalist to the point of being depressing."
"I don't spend much time here," I defend, pulling her toward the bed. "Mostly just sleep here. And now—" I capture her lips again. "Now I'm going to do much more interesting things here."
"Such a poet," Sierra teases, but her breath catches as I lower her onto the bed, covering her body with mine.
I take my time, kissing down her neck, across her collarbone, learning her body all over again. She arches into my touch, her hands roaming over my back, my shoulders, my arms.
"I missed this," Sierra gasps as I unhook her bra, tossing it aside. "Missed you. Missed us."
"Me too." I palm her breast, my thumb brushing over her nipple, watching it harden under my touch. "So fucking much."
Her hands slide into my boxer briefs, wrapping around my shaft, and I groan, my hips jerking into her touch. Eight years. It's been eight years since anyone touched me like this, since I let anyone this close.
"Still sensitive," Sierra murmurs with a small smile, stroking me slowly.
"It's been a while." The admission should be embarrassing, but I'm past caring. "Haven't… There hasn't been anyone. Not since you."
Sierra's hand stills, her eyes flying to mine. "What? Cade, that's eight years? You haven't been with anyone in eight years?"
"Couldn't." I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips. "Tried once or twice, early on. But it felt wrong. Like I was trying to replace something irreplaceable."
"Jesus, Cade." Her voice is thick with emotion. "I—there were a couple of guys. Nothing serious, nothing that lasted more than a few dates. But I tried. I thought you'd have moved on, would have—"
"I didn't." I kiss her again. "Only ever wanted you."
"Only ever wanted you too," she whispers back, and then her hand is on me again.
Sierra pushes me back against the pillows, a glint of determination in her eyes that I remember from years ago. It's the look she gets when she's decided on something, when nothing's going to stop her.
"Let me make you feel good," she murmurs, her voice low and sultry in a way that goes straight to my cock. "You've been alone too long, Cade. Let me take care of you."
Before I can respond, her mouth is on my chest, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across my pecs, down to my belly. Her tongue traces the line of muscle, and I feel my abs contract under her attention. She's taking her time, exploring my body like it's a map she needs to memorize.
Her lips trail down my stomach, following the trail of dark hair that disappears into my boxer briefs. Her fingers hook into the waistband, and she looks up at me, eyes dark with desire.
"Can I?" she asks, even though the answer is obvious from the way my cock is straining against the fabric.
