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Walking backward, his legs hit the couch and he drops to the cushions. Dust motes flutter up around him, dancing and flickering in the pale daylight shining through the window behind him, haloing his messy, dirty blond head of hair.
It should be a fucking crime how perfect he is.
Perfect in this light.
Perfect for me.
So perfect, sometimes it doesn’t feel real.Hedoesn’t feel real.
But heis. Thisis.And by some fucking miracle, he’s all mine.
Standing over him, I reach forward, driving my inked fingers through his tawny hair, giving him no choice but to let go of my wrist.
“C’mere,” is all he says, his voice no louder than a growled murmur.
I don’t have to ask what he means. Not that he even gives me a chance. He brings my other hand to his shoulder, then cups my waist in both his palms, yanking me forward.
I fall onto his lap with an exasperated huff, one he quickly smothers with a bruising kiss.
It should probably be embarrassing how easily I melt into his touch—how fast I cave into the heady sensation of being owned by Will Foster.
Because that’s exactly what this is—a claim. Afuck youto every voice in my head that tries to make me doubt that this is anything but real and right. The voices that try to convince me I’m not worthy of feeling this realness, this rightness.
Tucking my knees around his waist, I throw my arms over the back of the couch, gripping the windowsill, caging him in. I groan into his mouth, meeting his kiss with equal intensity, slashing my tongue into his mouth like I could scrape out the reassurances for myself.
Give it to me, Will.
Remind me who I am.
Remind me it’s okay.
Warm fingers slip up under my shirt, splaying hotly over my skin, while his other hand comes up to my face, capturing my jaw. He slows our frenzied kisses, sipping lazily at my mouth like we have all the time in the world. Like our family isn’t scattered about downstairs.
They have no idea we’re up here.
My cock thumps against the seam of my jeans and I grind up against him, seeking friction. Seeking more. Always more.
He slides his hands up higher, fingers bumping over my ribs, and I shudder. A pleased groan slips into my mouth, vibrating my lips and reverberating through my chest. He’s so warm against me, all hard edges and sinewy muscle—my equal in almost every way. It leaves no doubt as to who’s in my arms right now. A man.Will.The guy who never fails to catch me when I stumble.
You’d think after seven months, I’d be desensitized to it. But I’m still just as amazed as ever that I can have this. Havehim.
Mine.
His lips leave mine to drag hot, open-mouthed kisses to my jaw, then down my neck. Teeth scrape over my skin, and I find his hair with my fingers, burying my blunt nails in his scalp.
“Will,” I moan, throwing my head back as I rub myself on his dick. We’re both hard, our cocks straining through our jeans.
“Wanna suck you,” he murmurs against the hollow of my throat.
I gulp, blinking up at the sun glaring back at me, sparking little black dots across my vision.
“Can I?” he asks, pressing a kiss right over my Adam’s apple.
“Please,” I whisper.
He growls against my throat. “Love it when you beg for me.”
I scoff, fighting back a shiver as he moves his fingers to my fly, the heel of his palm dragging against my rigid hard-on. “Fuck off.”
