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But he doesn’t.
He comes in jerky pushes, releasing himself inside me with several spurts. He lets out a long, stretched sound of naked satisfaction, and then his hold on me finally loosens.
Both of us are panting loudly, still shuddering with occasional aftershocks. He lowers me carefully back to the bed, causing his cock to slip out of me. “Shit,” he mutters. “I meant to pull out.”
“It’s probably fine,” I say, hoarse and drained and a little confused by everything that just happened. “Not the right time of month for me to get pregnant.”
My stomach feels weird. My hands are damp and trembling. My cheeks are blazing hot, but everything else is starting to get chilly.
“Are you okay?” he asks, falling down onto the bed beside me like he suddenly went boneless.
“Yeah. I… think so.” I check his face. I desperately need to know how he’s feeling right now, and it’s always so difficult to read him.
His body is limp. Tired like mine is. He reaches out and pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me in a loose embrace.
I sigh and settle there. It feels better when he holds me. It feels like he needs me.
As much as I need him.
He hasn’t even told me how the trip turned out. What he and Jackson found out about our camp at the bunker. He just showed up and dragged me to our room and fucked me, not even able to wait until evening. He momentarily lost control so much he forgot to pull out.
He demanded to know if I missed him. Like it was important to him.
Now he’s nuzzling my neck. My messy hair. He inhales deeply, like he’s breathing me in. One of his hands slides down to cup my bottom again. This time gentle. Possessive. Something tight and needy softens inside me because I’m sure I’m not making this up.
Then he murmurs against my hair, “I missed you too.”
