Page 57 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)
The apartment is dark and quiet, except for the low hum of the refrigerator. I toe my shoes off by the door, let my jacket hang over the back of a chair, and head straight for her bedroom.
The soft rise and fall of her breathing pulls me in before I even see her.
She’s curled on her side, hair spilling across the pillow, one bare leg hooked out from under the sheets. Her tank top has slipped down just enough to show me the top swell of her breast.
Fuck.
I stand there for a second, taking her in. She’s a deep sleeper, and when she’s this peaceful it feels almost criminal to disturb her.
Almost.
But my need for her is a sickness I’ll never want cured.
I slip onto the bed behind her, the mattress dipping under my weight. She stirs just enough to mumble my name .
“I gave you that key so you would stop waking me by pounding at my door after midnight,” she whispers, a sleepy smile spreading across her lips. “Yet here you are, still waking me.”
“I need to tell you something.”
Her eyes finally open, and they pull me in like they always do as she searches my face. I see the smart remark forming on her tongue, but I don’t let it out.
“I love you.”
She’s quiet for a long minute before her palm cradles my jaw. “I know,” she whispers.
Something loosens in my chest. I know she’ll keep those words safe. She’ll tuck them away and guard them.
She doesn’t say them back, and I didn’t expect her to. That stubborn streak won’t let her, and I’m still paying interest on disappearing.
I’ll earn the echo.
She lifts my face and kisses me like she can seal in the truth, until our breaths fold together and leave nothing left to doubt.
When I finally pull away, she’s panting. “Take them off.”
It’s not a request.
I strip us both in seconds, and when I slide inside her, the world narrows to nothing but heat, pressure, and the sound she makes when I fill her.
I start slow, but the longer I’m inside her, the more the control frays.
Her body pulls me deeper, harder, and I give it to her. My hips slam into hers, pace roughening until the headboard knocks softly against the wall.
The sound of her, the clench of her around me, the way she gives and fights in the same breath—it’s brutal. Addictive. I can’t get deep enough, close enough. I want every inch of her, every sharp gasp, every ragged plea until she doesn’t remember a single man before me.
I don’t realize how close my edge is until she bucks up into me, meeting me thrust for thrust, her eyes locked on mine like she’s about to say something that’ll cut right through me.
She clutches the back of my neck, then fists my hair in her hand, yanking my head back so we’re face-to-face.
“You ever check out and disappear on me again,” she says, her voice steady despite the way she’s shaking, “I will kill you myself. Do you understand me?”
It’s not a threat I take lightly.
I wouldn’t survive it anyway.
“Yes, ma’am.”
And it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.
I’m tethered to her now. Every instinct, every thought, every fucking breath is tied to this woman. She’s the axis my world has shifted to.
I kiss her like it’s a vow and fuck her harder, until her warning melts into moans.
“Look at me,” I order.
Her eyes lock on mine, and I see the exact second she starts to come apart. I hold her there, make her ride it out, every sharp contraction pulling me closer to my own edge.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her teeth catching on her lower lip like she’s trying to bite back the sound. She fails, and the moan that slips out of her damn near finishes me.
“Julian—”
That’s all it takes. My release tears through me in a hard, shuddering rush. I stay deep, still moving just enough to drag her through the last of it, until we’re both trembling.
When I finally still, she kisses the hand I have braced next to her head. Her mouth is warm against skin already swelling.
“Now,” she murmurs against my hand, “you’re going to look at me and tell me who was at the other end of that fist tonight.”