Page 66 of Midnight Between Us (The Timberbridge Brothers #4)

I stay there, buried deep, giving her a moment—giving us a moment.

My hand smooths over her side, up to her ribs, then brushes the soft swell of her breast. I lean down, mouth tracing her collarbone, then the spot just beneath it where her heartbeat kicks wild under my lips.

I don’t move yet. I just feel her—her warmth, the rhythm of her breath, the way she’s letting me in without a single wall left standing.

Then I pull out slow, almost all the way, watching her lip’s part, her brows draw tight with the ache of losing me inch by inch. Her pussy clenches like it’s trying to hold on like her body’s just as desperate as mine to stay connected.

When I push back in, it’s with a slow roll of my hips that buries me deep. Her mouth falls open. A soft, broken sound escapes her—somewhere between a gasp and a moan, all need, no filter.

I brush her hair off her face, eyes locked on hers. Her hands slide up my back, nails digging in as her hips lift, meeting me halfway like she’s begging for more without saying a word.

And then she does. She moans louder, her voice trembling. “Harder, Keir.”

Her words rip through what little restraint I have left.

I snap my hips forward, and she cries out, head tipping back, body jerking against the mattress. Her pussy grips me, so tight and wet I nearly lose it.

“Fuck,” I growl, thrusting again—deeper, harder, letting her feel all of it.

She meets me, grinding up to take me deeper, matching me stroke for stroke like she needs this just as bad. Like she’s been starving, too.

And I give it to her.

“You feel that?” I grit out, my voice rough against her ear as I drive back into her. “That’s me. Filling every part of you.”

She moans, eyes glassy, hands fisting the sheets. “I want more.”

“You’ll get it,” I growl, my hand slipping between us, fingers finding her clit. She jerks beneath me when I circle it—slow at first, then faster, tighter, crueler. “But not until I watch you come again.”

She gasps, her back arching, spine bowing like her body’s trying to lift off the bed. Her thighs twitch around my hips, her breath stuttering with every drag of my cock, thick and deep and relentless inside her.

“Fuck—Keir?—”

I hold her gaze as I fuck her through it—slow, hard thrusts that force her to take me all over again. Her pussy stretches and pulls at me, soaked and swollen, every stroke a promise I’ll never let her forget this.

I watch myself disappear into her, hips slapping against her inner thighs, the sound slick and obscene and perfect. She’s flushed everywhere—cheeks, chest, the trembling rise of her breasts pressed against mine—and her body pulses around me like she’s giving in, bit by bit, breath by breath.

I don’t stop.

I don’t slow.

Not until she’s begging again, writhing beneath me as if she can’t decide whether it’s too much or not enough.

She tightens around me with every stroke, her walls clenching like she’s trying to pull me deeper. I grind my hips into hers, angling until I hit that spot inside her that makes her legs tremble and her voice break.

“Oh, fuck, right there—don’t stop—Keir, please?—”

I press harder on her clit, circling fast and precise, fingers slick, relentless.

“That’s it,” I rasp, panting now. “Come for me. Let me feel that perfect little cunt squeezes every inch of my cock.”

She keens—loud, helpless, wrecked. Her hands claw at my back, nails raking skin as her whole body locks and then starts to shatter underneath me.

And I keep fucking her through it.

Because she’s mine.

“Keir—oh, fuck—Keir, I—” Her orgasm crashes through her—hard and consuming. Her pussy clamps around me so tight I nearly lose control. She cries out, the sound raw and wild, her body writhing beneath mine as I fuck her through every wave.

I don’t stop.

I hold her close, one hand gripping the back of her thigh, the other cradling her jaw as I keep thrusting—slow, deep, relentless. Her cunt milks me with every pulsing contraction, and it’s everything I can do not to fall apart with her.

She’s shaking, sobbing out my name, her hips lifting off the bed like she needs every last inch of me. Her fingers claw at my back, her mouth dragging along my throat as she whispers broken curses and half-finished pleas.

And, fuck, I can’t hold back anymore.

I surge forward, grinding deeper, burying myself to the root as my cock thickens, twitches, ready to spill. Her pussy is still fluttering around me, soaked and perfect, clutching me like she doesn’t want to let go.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” I choke out, forehead pressed to hers. “You were made for me.”

I lose it.

My orgasm rips through me, brutal and hot, and I come with a growl torn straight from my chest, hips locking as I empty into the condom. Her legs wrap around me, drawing me in deeper, holding me there as if her body knows I need the closeness as much as the release.

Everything tightens—my spine, my grip, my heart—and then breaks apart as pleasure floods every nerve ending.

I stay there, still inside her, panting against her neck, her skin slick with sweat and heat and everything we’ve poured into this moment.

I don’t pull out. Not yet.

I press a kiss to her jaw, then her temple, and slide my hand over her stomach, anchoring us together. Her legs are still wrapped around me, her chest rising and falling under mine.

She whispers my name like it’s the only thing she trusts. Like I’m something safe.

“I’ve got you,” I breathe, lips brushing her hairline. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She’s still trembling. And I’m still inside her. Wrapped in her heat, her scent, her silence.

“I missed you,” I whisper into her skin. “Missed this. Missed us.”

She turns her head toward me, eyes glassy, lips swollen, flushed from sex, and something deeper. She doesn’t say it back. She doesn’t have to.

Because she lets me stay there.

Because she’s still letting me in.

Her legs remain tangled around mine. Her chest rises and falls beneath me, the rhythm slowing, softening. She’s still trembling when I finally move.

I ease out of her carefully, watching the way her body shudders with the last flickers of sensation. Her thighs tense, then release. Her breath hitches. I press a kiss just beneath her collarbone, then another to her cheek—small, grounding touches meant only for her.

I slip the condom off, tie it, and walk to the bathroom where I toss it in the bin.

Then I grab the towel dampen it, and go back to her to clean her up carefully.

She lets me. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away.

Just lies there, chest bare, legs parted, eyes closed like she’s letting herself feel safe.

When I’m done, I toss the towel aside and climb back into bed beside her. She drapes one arm across my stomach, her head tucking beneath my chin like it’s the place she always meant to return to.

“I thought about this,” she says softly, her voice thick from orgasm and exhaustion. “So many times. What it would be like if you ever came back, until I convinced myself that it was easier to hate you.”

I press my face into her neck and inhale her. “Did it feel like this?”

“No,” she says. “It never felt this good.”

A small laugh catches in my chest. “I didn’t think I’d be allowed to touch you like this again. Didn’t know if I deserved it.”

“You should stop thinking like that. It’s different now. Everything . . . it’s in the past. We were given a shitty hand—more you than me.”

I kiss her shoulder, lingering there. “Still, I plan to spend every day trying to earn it—earn you. Making sure you fall in love with me, just like I plan on falling in love with you every day for the rest of our lives.”

We lie there for a while, nothing but skin and breath and the soft, rhythmic beat of her heart under my palm. There’s no rush. No fear. No lingering tension.

Only this moment.

Only us.

“I love you,” I say into her hair. “Still. Always.”

She moves close enough for our lips to meet. A slow kiss. Soft and open and so different from the one that started it all.

“I love you too,” she whispers. “Even when I tried not to.”

I pull her closer.

There’s nothing left to prove.

We’re here.

Together.

Finally.