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I brush a finger over his lips. So lush and warm. Lips that feel like home.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
He kneels, strapping and naked, sheathed in protection and staring at me lovingly. I take his hand and guide him back down to me.
My head is resting on a mountain of pillows, yet it’s nothing compared to the comfort I feel when he enters me again.
I lean up and kiss him.
Our mouths never release as he pumps into me slowly, sending my head into a dizzying haze of lust and love.
His left hand grabs my right, and we clasp each other tight, like we’d die if we ever let go. Our other free hands roam and touch.
I rest mine on his dewy skin and feel the muscles clench with every pulse of his body.
He grips my hip and pulls my body even closer to his. I can’t tell where he begins or I end.
His movements are slow.
Our hearts are fast.
Two people on the cusp of pleasure and, quite possibly, forever.
“I chose you,” Will breathes into my lips.
My eyes flutter up to him as I drink in his words and his desire.
“When you kissed me in the parking lot, I knew in that moment that you were the woman I wanted to be with.”
My brows furrow because the words are wrong, but as a tear gently rolls down my cheek, I know I can’t hide it. “I wanted it to be me.”
“I didn’t want to leave you that night.” His arms shake lightly, as if he’s holding himself back. His eyes close. “Fuck. What is this between us? I’m addicted to you, Melissa.”
I grab his face and will him to open his eyes. He does.
“Two people who happen to be in each other’s life at just the right time, remember?”
“The right fucking time.”
My breaths are ragged, and my body is quickening again. “Don’t hold back, Will. Give me everything.”
And with that, my man unleashes it all. Every ounce of want, frustration, desire, and carnal need is shared in my bed. It creaks and hums in all its tawdry glory. And I’m certain neither this bed nor I will ever be the same.
twenty-four
MY HEAD IS NESTLEDon a very warm chest, except there is an excessive banging that’s definitely not coming from the heart of the man whose chest I’m lying on. I sit up in a groggy haze, place my hand on my temple, and look around my bedroom. To my right is a sleeping Bronson, looking devilishly handsome in his white-sheet-clad glory. I, myself, am sans clothing and surprised we both fell asleep. I guess I’m still tired from last night.
Bang, bang, bang.
The sound is not coming from my head. It’s pulsing from downstairs. The front door foyer, to be exact. I look over at the clock and see it’s two in the afternoon. I walk over to the window, and there, on the street before me, is a familiar Mercedes.
“Shit!” I rush over to the floor and grab my cappuccino bottoms and sweatshirt that Will carefully dropped when we came up here. I slide them on and close my door before rushing down the stairs and letting my children in the house.
“What took you so long?!” Izzy pushes in with an eye roll and sarcastic attitude. Her strawberry-blonde hair is in a high ponytail, and she seems extra exasperated for her eleven-year-old self.
“I thought you’d never let us in the house!” Hunter wraps his arms around me.
I lean down to kiss his head.
