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He doesn’t. His lips trail down my neck, his breath hot against my skin. I shiver as his hands slide up my thighs, his touch sending sparks of desire through me. “I’ve thought about this,” he admits, his voice low and rough. “About being here, with you, like this.”
“Me too,” I confess, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Every night.”
His hands move to the hem of my shirt, pulling it up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I lift my arms, letting him take it off, baring my skin along with my heart to him. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze lingering on the bruises, but then his lips are on me again, soft and gentle, like he’s trying to heal me with his mouth. I arch into him, a soft moan escaping my lips as his tongue traces the curve of my collarbone.
“Zasha,” I whisper, my voice pleading. “Please.”
He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice commanding.
“You,” I say, my voice steady despite the way my body is trembling. “I want you.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands move to the button of my pants, undoing it slowly, his touch deliberate. I lift my hips, helping him slide them down, my skin flushing under his gaze. He steps back for a moment, just long enough to shed his own shirt, revealing the muscular chest I’ve missed so much. His tattoos stretch across his skin, a map of his past, inked into the present.
When he returns, his hands are on my hips again, guiding me to the edge of the counter. I feel his breath on my core, warm and teasing, before his lips press against me through my lace panties. I gasp, my head falling back as he kisses me there, his tongue teasing the fabric. “Zasha,” I murmur, my voice shaky. “Take of the—”
He cuts me off, hooking his fingers into the waistband and sliding them down my legs, leaving me bare. His lips return to me, his tongue tracing patterns that make me squirm. I grip the edge of the counter, my nails digging into the wood as he kisses and licks, his touch both gentle and relentless. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice vibrating through me. “I’ve missed this.”
I can’t respond, my breath coming in short gasps as he works his magic. His tongue dips inside me, his fingers pressing into the small of my back, holding me steady. I’m drowning in sensation, my body tightening as pleasure coils low in my belly. “Zasha,” I whimper, my voice desperate. “Please, I—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His mouth sucks gently, his tongue flicking in a rhythm that sends me spiraling. My body shakes as I come, my cry echoing in the quiet kitchen. He holds me throughit, his hands steady, his mouth never leaving me until the last shudder passes.
When I open my eyes, he’s looking up at me, his expression satisfied but hungry for more. “Not done yet,” he says, his voice a low growl.
He stands, his hands sliding under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs still trembling as he carries me out of the kitchen. The world blurs as he moves, his steps purposeful, his body warm against mine. He kicks the bedroom door open, the soft glow of the hallway light spilling in.
He lays me on the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re sure?” he asks, his voice gentle, almost tender.
“Yes,” I breathe, reaching for him. “I’ve waited too long.”
He nods, his hands moving to his belt, undoing it slowly. I watch as he sheds his pants, his body hard and lean, every inch of him a reminder of why I’ve wanted him for so long. He joins me on the bed, his weight careful, his hands brushing the hair from my face. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises, his lips brushing mine.
“I know,” I whisper, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.
He kisses me again, slow and deep, before moving lower, his lips trailing down my neck, my chest, his hands exploring every inch of me. I arch into his touch, my body alive with anticipation.When he reaches my core again, his fingers teasing me, I gasp, my hips lifting to meet him.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice dark with promise.
He positions himself above me, his eyes locked on mine as he enters me slowly, his body filling me in a way that makes me moan. He moves with deliberate care, his hands pressing into the bed on either side of me, his breath coming in short gasps. “Mara,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”
“Me too,” I whisper, my hands sliding up his arms, holding him close.
He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deep, pouring three years of want into every stroke. I meet him, my body rising to match his rhythm, my breath coming in sync with his. The room is filled with the sound of our skin, the soft creak of the bed, the whispered words of longing.
“Zasha,” I murmur, my voice breaking. “Faster.”
He obliges, his pace quickening, his body driving into mine with a desperation that matches my own. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, my nails digging into his back. The bruises on my ribs are forgotten, the pain overshadowed by the pleasure coursing through me.
“Come for me,” he demands, his voice rough. “Let me feel it.”
I don’t need to be told twice. My body tightens around him, my cry echoing in the room as I shatter, my orgasm ripping through me like a storm. He follows, his body stiffening as he spills into me, his name on my lips.
He collapses onto me, his breath hot against my neck, his heart pounding against mine. I run my fingers through his hair, holding him close, the weight of him grounding me. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, the warmth of his skin against mine.
“I love you, Xiomara,” he murmurs, his voice soft.
“I love you too,” I reply, my voice just as quiet.
He lifts his head, his eyes searching mine, like he’s trying to find the answers to questions he’s never asked. I reach up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, my thumb tracing the line of his jaw.