Reaching into the nightstand, I grab a condom. She watches me, her breath hitching as I tear the wrapper with my teeth.
"Let me," she whispers, reaching for me. Her fingers are warm and sure as she takes the condom, rolling it on with a tenderness that nearly undoes me completely.
I settle between her thighs, feeling the heat of her against me. "Kassi," I breathe her name like a prayer, like a promise. "Look at me."
Her eyes find mine, wide and trusting, and I see everything there—the want, the vulnerability, the leap of faith she's taking with me. I brush a strand of hair from her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone.
"I've got you," I murmur, and then I'm sinking into her, slowly and carefully, watching her face for any sign of discomfort.
She gasps, her back arching as I fill her. The sound echoes in my chest like thunder, and I have to hold perfectly still for a moment, overwhelmed by the sensation of her surrounding me.
"You okay?" I whisper against her temple, tasting the salt of the sweat beginning to bead there.
"More than okay," she breathes, shifting her hips in a way that makes stars explode behind my eyes. "Don't stop."
I begin to move, setting a slow rhythm that has her eyes fluttering closed. "Look at me," I murmur again. "I want to see you."
Her gaze locks with mine, vulnerable and fierce all at once. There's something raw about being watched like this, being seen so completely. I've never felt more exposed than I do with her eyes on me, reading every emotion that crosses my face.
I slide my hand beneath her, lifting her hips to change the angle, and her mouth falls open in a silent cry. Her nails rake down my back, leaving marks I'll feel tomorrow. I don't care. I want to be marked by her, want the reminder that this wasn't just another dream.
"You feel so good," I whisper against her ear, my voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "So perfect."
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, body arching beneath me like a drawn bow. The way she moves with me, her body meeting each thrust, tells me she's close. Sliding a hand between us, I find that sensitive bundle of nerves with my thumb, circling slow and steady.
"Asher," she gasps, the sound of my name on her lips almost undoing me completely. "Oh god..."
"That's it," I encourage, watching her face as pleasure washes over her. "Let go for me, beautiful."
Her thighs tighten around my hips, her body tensing beneath me. I feel the exact moment she breaks, her inner muscles clenching around me in rhythmic pulses. The sight of her coming undone—head thrown back, lips parted, eyes locked with mine—pushes me right to the edge.
"Kassi," I groan, my rhythm faltering as my own release builds. "I'm close."
"Don't stop," she whispers, still riding the aftershocks of her own pleasure. Her hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with unexpected tenderness. "I want to feel you."
That does it. I let out a harsh groan as my release crashes through me, every muscle in my body going taut as I spill into her. My vision goes white at the edges, and for a moment, there's nothing but the feeling of her body beneath mine, the sound of her breathing, the scent of us mingled together.
I collapse against her, trying to catch my breath, my face buried in the curve of her neck. Her fingers run through my hair, soothing, familiar, and the feeling in my chest goes deeper than the physical satisfaction still humming through my veins.
"Jesus," I breathe against her skin, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone.
She hums in agreement, her body still trembling slightly beneath mine. I lift my head to look at her, taking in the flush across her cheeks, the satisfied curve of her lips. She looks different like this—softer, more open. Like she's let down walls I didn't even know she'd built.
I roll to my side after cleaning up, pulling her against me so her back curves into my chest. The fit is perfect, it’s as if she were made to be held by me. I brush her hair away from her neck, pressing soft kisses there.
"Stay," I murmur against her skin. The word hangs between us in the darkness, heavier than I intended. Her body goes still against mine, and I feel the shift immediately—the way her breathing changes, becomes more deliberate.
"Asher..." she starts, and I hear the conflict in her voice before she even continues.
"Just until morning," I say quickly, hating how desperate I sound. "I'm not asking for promises."
But even as I say it, I know I'm lying. I want more than one night, more than stolen moments when no one's watching. I want mornings with her hair spread across my pillow. I want to make her coffee and watch her drink it while Emma chatters about her dreams. I want things I have no right to want.
"Okay," she whispers.
The word settles in my chest like a brand. I kiss the back of her shoulder and pull the blanket higher. She fits against me more easily than breathing. Her hand finds mine where it rests at her waist, and our fingers lock, instinctive as muscle memory.
I listen as her breathing evens out. Out past the window a nightbird calls, and the pasture answers with a soft stir of leaves. My house has never been this quiet or this full. I think about the way she watched Emma brush Midnight, the way she looked at me when I steadied her on the bleachers. I think about coffee inthe morning and small feet on my porch, and how simple it felt to lift a little girl out of a crowd and make sure she did not fall.