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With a grunt, he leans back on his haunches and pulls me with him, my ass resting on his thighs. I’m splayed open for him, in all my glory, and I catch a glimpse of his cock before he’s inside me again. God, that’s hot. He must think so too because his gaze stays there, his grip on my hips bruising as he watches himself slide in and out. I slide my hands up my chest and squeeze my breasts, twisting my hard nipples between my fingers. In the next breath, Fletch is leaning over me, pressing my legs as wide as they’ll go. His mouth crashes onto mine, and the sound of his flesh meeting mine fills the room. Heat coils low in my belly and and before I can scream, Fletch catches it with his mouth. My body implodes on the next thrust and I squeeze my eyes so hard I see stars. Without missing a beat, Fletch rolls us over, and keeps thrusting from the bottom until he’s wrapped me in his arms, grunting through his own release. My body quivers from the aftershock, my skin slick with sweat.

I don’t move.

I can’t.

Because I think if I do, the spell might break. This beautiful, blistering blur of skin and heat and him might fracture and slip through my fingers like every other good thing I’ve ever held too tight.

Fletch is still buried deep inside me, his arms locked around my back, his breath warm and uneven against the hollow of my throat. His heartbeat thunders against my ribs, frantic and human and here.

It’s the most alive I’ve felt in months.

And the most scared.

He presses a kiss to my shoulder. Then another. And another. Like he can feel the thoughts spiraling in my head and he’s trying to kiss each one away before it takes root.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and frayed.

Something cracks open in my chest.

I run my fingers through his damp hair, push it back from his forehead, and rest my palm against his cheek. His stubble scrapes my skin and somehow, it’s exactly what I need—something real. Something grounding.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.

He leans back just enough to look at me, eyes soft and dark and still a little dazed. “Do what?”

“Not wait for it to fall apart.”

His brows pull together, and his thumb brushes along my jaw. “We’re allowed to be happy, Mya.”

“I don’t know how to be,” I confess. “Not without checking every corner for the fallout. Not without wondering when it’ll all disappear again.”

His eyes search mine like he’s looking for the fracture lines.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says again, softer this time. Like a vow. Like a prayer.

I press my face into his neck and breathe him in—salt and skin and something warm I can’t name.

“I just need time,” I whisper.

“You can have all of it,” he says.

He rolls onto his side, his cock still inside me. He brushes my hair from my face before hooking my leg over his hip. For a moment, I forgot that Fletch had a stamina that was downright frightening when it came to sex, but he also has a sex drive that rivals mine. He starts with shallow thrusts, pressing his hand to the hollow of my back and rotating his hips. The friction on my already sensitive clit makes me jolt. And he fucks me like that, lazily and like we have all the time in the world. I map his body with my hands, shivering when his calloused fingers brush over my soft skin. I roll my hips to meet him thrust for thrust until the rhythm is hypnotic. Until I’m coming apart again because he plays my body like a well-tuned guitar. His release is slower but no less powerful, making his large frame shudder while he kisses me until my lips are puffy and swollen.

“I forgot how annoying your stamina is,” I murmur, voice scratchy and low.

“Annoying?” He grins against my throat and starts moving again—slow, shallow thrusts that make my oversensitive body twitch. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

“Oh, I minded,” I breathe, rocking my hips against his. “In the best possible way.”

Fletch presses his palm to the small of my back, anchoring me, and rolls his hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm that’s downright sinful. Lazy and unhurried, like we have nowhere to be, no one to answer to, and a lifetime to burn between the sheets.

His mouth trails kisses down my shoulder as we move together, slower this time—more intimate, less frantic. Like we’re trying to memorize each other skin to skin, breath to breath. I run my hands across his chest, mapping the familiar terrain—scarred and sculpted, soft in places, sharp in others.

He plays me like he always does. With patience and precision and the kind of reverence that has my eyes fluttering closed and my body clenching again around him

My final orgasm sneaks up on me like a thief, stealing the air from my lungs as I moan his name against his mouth. And he follows, groaning into my kiss, hips stuttering, arms tightening like he can’t get close enough.

We’re quiet for a long time after that. Tangled in the sheets, bare and sticky and blissed out.