I lay there just watching her sleep, and there was something happening in my chest that I didn’t have words for—this enormous, almost unbearable feeling, like my ribcage was the wrong size for what was inside it. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of wanting her, of watching her from the wrong side of every distance I’d either built or been handed, and she was here. In my arms. Her eyelashes dark against her cheeks, mouth soft and slightly open, the faint freckles across her nose that only showed up in certain light. I knew about those freckles. I’d been noticing those freckles for longer than I’d ever admitted to anyone, including myself.
This is real.I had to keep reminding myself.This is actually real.
I felt something that might have been the closest I’d ever come to reverent. Like I’d been handed something I hadn’t earned and was terrified of dropping it. Like the universe had made some beautiful, inexplicable mistake in my favor, and I was just lying here in the dark, heart full to the point of aching, trying to memorize every detail before it disappeared.
It didn’t disappear.
I brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, light enough not to wake her, but she stirred anyway. Her eyes fluttered open, sleepy and unguarded, and when she saw me looking, a slow, shy smile curved her lips.
And there it was. That smile. The one I’d replayed more times than I’d ever admit, the one that had gotten me through more bad nights than I had any right to confess. Only now it was real, and it was close, and it was aimed at me, and I felt the impact of it somewhere behind my sternum like I always did, except now I didn’t have to pretend otherwise.
“Morning,” she whispered.
“Morning.” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.
She shifted closer, pressing her bare skin to mine, and the simple contact sent heat rushing through me all over again. Last night had been everything.
I kissed her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth. She sighed into it, turning her face up so our lips met properly. It was soft at first, lazy, like we had all the time in the world. But the longer we kissed, the hungrier it got. Her hand slid down my chest, nails grazing my stomach, and I groaned against her mouth when her fingers wrapped around me.
“Becca,” I rasped, already hard for her again.
She smiled against my lips. “Still want me?”
“Always.” I rolled us so she was on top, straddling my hips, her thighs bracketing mine. I ran my hands up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, then cupping them fully.She arched into the touch, head tipping back, and the sight of her—flushed, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded—nearly undid me right there.
I sat up, pulling her closer so her breasts pressed against my chest. We kissed again while my hands roamed her back, her hips, the curve of her ass. She rocked against me, slick heat sliding along my length, teasing without letting me in, and I bit back a curse.
“Condom,” she breathed.
I reached for my jeans on the floor, grabbed one, and rolled it on with shaking hands. She watched me, eyes dark and trusting, then lifted herself just enough to guide me to her entrance.
“Slow,” she whispered.
I nodded, gripping her hips as she sank down inch by inch. We both groaned at the stretch, the heat, the way she fit me like she was made for it. When she was fully seated, she stilled, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.
“You feel…” I swallowed. “Like everything I’ve ever wanted, and I almost can’t believe this is happening.”
She kissed me then and started to move. Gentle rolls at first, then longer strokes, her hands braced on my shoulders. I met her rhythm, thrusting up to meet her, one hand sliding between us to circle her clit with my thumb. She gasped into my mouth, hips moving against me, and I felt her start to tighten around me.
“Levi—”
“Come for me,” I murmured against her lips. “Let me feel you.”
She did—shattering with a broken cry, clenching hard around me, nails digging into my shoulders. I followed right after, burying myself deep, groaning her name as I pulsed inside her.
We stayed like that—sweaty, trembling, wrapped around each other—until our breathing slowed. She collapsed against my chest, and I held her tight, one hand stroking her hair, the other splayed across her lower back.
I pressed my lips to her temple. “How are you feeling?”
She nodded against my neck. “Amazed. And scared, maybe. In a good way.”
I kissed her hair. “Me too.”
We lay there a while longer, skin cooling, hearts steadying. Eventually, she lifted her head, eyes soft and searching.
“Shower?” she asked quietly. “I’m sticky. And I want to feel you close again.”
My chest tightened. “Yeah. Come on.”
