"I love you." Rough. Muffled against my skin. "I know it's too soon. I don't care."
"It's not too soon." My fingers tangle in his hair. "It's right on time."
He laughs against my neck. A real laugh, vibrating through both of us.
Then his mouth finds mine, and the laughing stops.
This kiss is different from every one before it. Open. Unhurried. Not driven by storm-dark urgency or the desperate need to feel something besides loneliness. This is a man kissing a woman he almost lost, tasting her with the focused attention of someone who has decided, fully and irreversibly, to stay.
My back meets the hallway wall. His thigh presses between mine. Every point of contact ignites. His hand slides up my shirt, palm spreading across my ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of my breast.
"Bed," I whisper.
"Yours or mine?"
"Ours."
The word transforms his face. Jaw softening, eyes going dark, a look of such raw want my knees almost give. He lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist. Three steps and we're through his door. Our door.
He lays me on the sheets that still smell like both of us. Pulls my shirt over my head. Stops.
"What?"
"Looking at you." His thumb traces along my collarbone. Down between my breasts. Over the soft curve of my stomach. "Making sure this is real."
"It's real. Get down here."
He grins. Then drops his mouth to my nipple, sucking hard enough to make my back arch while his hand works my shorts down my hips. Two fingers slide through the wetness between my thighs. My whole body jerks.
"Missed this." His mouth moves to my other breast. "Missed the way you sound when I touch you."
"It's been twelve hours."
"Longest twelve hours of my life."
Those fingers push inside me. Slow, deep, curling against the spot that makes my toes curl. His thumb circles my clit with a pressure so precise it borders on cruel. He knows my body already. Knows the rhythm, the angle, the exact moment when building becomes breaking.
"Sully. Please."
"Yeah." He strips his jeans. Rolls on a condom. Settles between my thighs with his weight braced on his forearms. Pushes inside with one slow, devastating stroke.
Full. Stretched. Connected in a way that goes past physical and straight into something I've never had before. His forehead drops to mine. Both of us breathing hard.
Then he moves. Deep, steady strokes that build in intensity. My nails drag down his back. His hand grips my thigh, pulling my leg higher, changing the angle until every thrust drags across my clit. The pressure coils tighter. Tighter.
"Look at me." Low. Commanding.
My eyes open. His are right there. Storm-gray, blown dark, locked on mine. Watching my face as he fucks me slow and thorough and intentional.
"I love you," he says again, punctuated by a thrust that sends sparks up my spine.
The orgasm rolls through me in a long, shuddering wave. He follows with a groan that shakes his whole body, hips grinding deep as he comes.
We lie tangled afterward. His arm heavy across my waist. My head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
"The suitcase," he says after a while.
"What about it?"
