Page 268 of Show Me

“Xavier.” My name on her lips is a prayer. “Move. Please.”

I pull back, then sink in again, finding a rhythm that makes her gasp and moan and clutch at my back. Every thrust is deliberate, controlled, my body screaming for more while my heart demands I be careful. Be gentle. Be worthy of what she’s giving me.

“Look at me,” I whisper. “Ruby, look at me.”

Her eyes open, hazy with pleasure, and I hold her gaze as I move inside her. This is what I missed. Not just the physical release, though God knows I need that. This connection. This intimacy. This absolute certainty that she sees me, all of me, and she’s here.

“I love you,” I tell her, the words falling out with every thrust. “I love you, I love you–”

“I know.” She pulls me down to kiss her, her tongue tangling with mine. She tightens around me, her body climbing toward release. “I love you too. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

I shift my angle, grinding against her with every thrust, and she cries out, her head falling back against the pillow. The sight of her, open and vulnerable and mine, pushes me over the edge. I feel my own release building, coiling tight at the base of my spine.

“Come with me,” I gasp against her throat. “Ruby, come with me–”

She does. Her body seizes around mine, her muscles clenching rhythmically, and the sensation pulls my own orgasm from me. I bury myself deep and let go, spilling inside her with a groan that sounds like her name, like a prayer, like a promise kept.

For long moments we stay like that, joined, breathing hard, my forehead pressed to hers. I feel her heart hammering against my chest, matching my own frantic rhythm. When I pull out, it’s slow, reluctant, already missing the connection.

I roll onto my side, gathering her against me, and she comes willingly, tucking her head beneath my chin. My hand finds her stomach again, protective and possessive, and I feel tears prick at my eyes.

“I almost lost this,” I whisper, the truth of it hitting me fresh. “I almost lost you.”

“But you didn’t.” She kisses my chest, right over my heart. “I’m here. We’re here.”

I hold her tighter, burying my face in her hair, and let the relief wash over me. She’s right. We made it. Through the fear, the doubt, and the damage I caused, we made it here. To this moment. To this peace.

“Thank you,” I murmur against her temple. “For choosing me. For trusting me. For giving me another chance.”

She doesn’t answer with words. Just presses closer, her hand finding mine where it rests on her stomach, and we lie there as the rain continues against the window, neither of us needing to speak.

We’re here. Together. And that’s enough.

Chapter One Hundred Fifty

Ruby

The sheets are cold when I wake up. Just cold enough to tell me Xavier’s been up for a little while. And for the first time, my chest doesn’t ache. I don’t immediately think he left. Instead, I smile into the pillow. Because I already know he’s still here.

The realization settles warm and soft through my chest while I stretch beneath the blankets. Every muscle in my body protests. Not painful. Just used. Heat creeps up my neck as flashes of last night hit me all at once.

His hands. His mouth. The way he kissed me like he was making up for every second we’d spent apart.

My fingers brush lightly over my chin. Stubble burn. His fault. I smile harder.

The smell of coffee drifts down the hallway. Along with the faint sound of Xavier talking. And Squirt snorting.

I push myself out of bed and grab the first thing within reach. His T-shirt. It hangs almost to my thighs when I pull it on, soft and smelling like him. Warm skin. Soap. Xavier.

My chest does another stupid little flutter before I can stop it. Ridiculous. One of Xavier’s socks lies by his boots on the floor—the other missing. Of course.

Still smiling, I pad barefoot down the hallway.

The kitchen comes into view. And God…. Xavier stands at the stove shirtless in a pair of gray sweatpants, spatula in one hand while Squirt roots aggressively against his leg beside him.

“You’re unbelievably pushy,” he tells him. Squirt grunts louder. “She’s your pig,” he mutters. “I’m trying to survive breakfast.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. His head turns. And the look on his face when he sees me, warm, sleepy, happy, hits me right in the chest.