Page 100 of Meet Me In The Dark

Not even close.

It’s all flashing through my mind.

The way he’s so filthy with his words, so ruthless with his touch, and yet he’s the one taking care of me afterward.

This should be so insignificant. A man wiping soap suds off my nose should mean nothing, but somehow, it feels intimate.

His fingers rest at my jaw, his thumb moving softly over my cheek.

My breath escapes in a controlled exhale, while my pulse pounds so loudly in my ears that I almost miss the moment he leans in. The simple touch of his lips against mine is gentle enough to ignite a deep, aching pull low in my belly.

When his mouth claims mine, it feels different fromthis morning’s battle. We’re no longer two people at war. We’ve stepped into something more vulnerable.

His hands settle on my waist, sliding beneath the hem of my sweater. His fingertips burn a path against my skin as he pulls me toward the edge of the counter.

The kiss is a slow exploration, as if he’s tasting me, mapping me, learning me all over again. His fingers weave into my hair, tugging just enough to position my face exactly where he wants it. Each stroke of his tongue makes me tremble, the world outside this moment fading away until there’s only him.

When he pulls back, we’re both panting. His eyes blaze as he stares straight into me. No walls. No pretense.

When he tugs off my sweater, his gaze drops to my breasts. A quiet groan escapes him before he dips his head, capturing one hardened peak in his mouth and circles his tongue around it.

Sliding his hands under my thighs, he lifts me briefly as he pulls my leggings and underwear off, discarding them somewhere across the kitchen floor.

He steps back just enough to look at me, naked and perched on the countertop.

“Fucking beautiful,” he rasps.

He strips off his clothes, each chiseled line of his body revealed in unhurried motions. This time, he lets me look. He lets me take him in, and he doesn’t move until I have.

When he comes back to me, he’s thick and hot between my thighs. One slow thrust and he’s pushing inside, filling me inch by inch until there’s no space left between us.

This isn’t dominance. This is vulnerability wrapped in quiet command.

I hook my legs tighter around him, matching his rhythm, our breaths tangling as we find the same pace.

Each thrust grows deeper, more powerful, but still careful. My body feels raw and exposed with every movement dragging me closer to the edge.

“What are you doing to me?” he groans, lips pressing beneath my ear.

The ache in his voice slides into my chest and lodges there.

The pleasure grows slowly, heat building until it crashes over me. This isn’t the violent rush from this morning. This is so much deeper. It’s a quake moving through my bones.

He’s watching me when it hits him, too. My name leaves him in a rough, unguarded groan.

I hold onto him, not because I need the support, but because I’m not ready to let go.

Twenty-Nine

Julian:Wait until I get my hands on you.

I’m still grinning at my phone like an idiot when the heat hits me.

He’s in New York for five days. Five, very long days.

After our run this morning, he showered and changed at my place before leaving. He kissed me goodbye, and as a parting gift, I slipped a pair of my panties into his pocket.

I’m guessing he just found them.