I like that.
I slide one finger into her and feel the immediate way she tightens around it while I keep my mouth moving steadily against her. Focused. Intent. I adjust slightly until I find the angle that pulls a sharp breath from her chest.
Her hand tightens hard in my hair.
I add a second finger, curling them gently, and her whole body reacts beneath me. I keep the same steady rhythm with my mouth, tracking every change in her breathing, every tremor that runs through her.
“That feels—” she starts, then loses it. “Dane… that feels so good.”
I know when to ease back and when to hold steady, when she needs more and when she needs exactly this—no change, no variation. Just constant.
“Oh shit,” she breathes, her voice thinner now. “Please, Dane—right there. Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
The tension builds fast, familiar. Her thighs press tighter against my shoulders, her breathing slipping out of rhythm. I keep everything exactly the same—my fingers, my mouth, the pressure, the pace. She doesn’t need anything different. She needs this.
Her grip in my hair tightens enough to hurt. I let it.
“Oh—” Her voice breaks. “Oh… Dane… it’s happening.”
I feel the shift as it hits her.
She comes apart with a low sound that opens into something louder, her body tightening and lifting against me. I stay with her through it, steady, easing just slightly as the intensity peaks, then softening as it fades, guiding her through every last wave until her grip loosens and her body settles.
Her legs fall open, and I move back up slowly. Her hand finds my face, pulls me in, and she kisses me.
“God, I love you,” she says.
“I love you too.”
When I glide into her, I watch her face. I always do. It’s instinct—needing to see her, to know exactly where she is in it.
Her eyes lock onto mine and stay there, completely present, and something in my chest that’s been tight eases, just a little.
The bed changes the angles, small adjustments, but we find it without speaking. We always do. She shifts her hips slightly, and I follow. Then we settle into the rhythm together.
I keep it slow. There’s no reason not to—nothing pressing in on us, nothing waiting outside this room that matters right now. She exhales softly, her hands sliding over my back.
Time stretches.
Her breathing is the first thing to change. It always is. It slips out of rhythm, turns into something her body takes over without asking. Heat builds under my hands, along her skin. The room stays quiet around us—just her breath, mine, and the distant noise of a world that doesn’t belong here.
Her nails press into my back.
“Harder,” she says, barely above a whisper.
I give it to her.
It builds the way it always does—natural, inevitable, something between us that doesn’t need explaining. Her legs wrap around me, shifting everything, and she makes a small sound against my jaw. I press my face into her throat.
“You’re mine, Charlotte.” It comes out rougher than I expect.
Her eyes open and find mine. “I know I am.”
“Say it.”
“I’m yours, Dane.” No hesitation. No doubt. “I always have been. I always will be.”
