“Yes.”
The word settles inside me like truth.
My lips find hers again, and this time, there is nothing left of the version of myself who runs.
Only the man who stays.
My hands settle at her waist, and the warmth of her skin beneath my palms feels different now. Warmer than mine. Softer in a way that makes my chest tighten. My thumbs trace slow circles along her sides, learning the gentle curve of her, the strength beneath softness.
Her skin smells faintly of something sweet and familiar and new all at once. Not perfume. Something natural. Something warm. Like sunshine held close.
I turn us on the mattress and drag her onto my lap, her thighs straddling mine, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders. She’s so small like this, petite and warm, her weight settled against me like she belongs there. I cup her chin, gently tilting her head back just enough to expose the long line of her throat.
Fuck, her neck. I’ve thought about this so many times—the way her pulse would flutter under my lips, the way she’d gasp if I bit down just right.
I don’t wait. I press my mouth to the sensitive skin beneath her ear, breathing her in. She smells like vanilla and something richer, something uniquely her, and it goes straight to my head. My lips trail down, slow and deliberate, tasting her. She arches into me, a soft sound escaping her—half moan, half sigh—and her fingers tighten in my hair.
“Phil,” she breathes again, and this time it’s not a question. It’s a plea.
I answer by kissing her. Not the hesitant, testing presses from before, but deep and hungry, my tongue sliding against hers. She opens for me instantly, her mouth hot and wet, her taste intoxicating. I groan into her, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer until she’s pressed flush against me, until I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her leggings, the hard ridge of my cock trapped between us.
She rocks against me, just once, and the friction makes my vision blur.
“Fuck,” I rasp against her lips. “Christina—”
“Shh.” Her fingers press to my mouth, silencing me. Her eyes are dark, her pupils blown wide. “Just—touch me.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
My hands slide under her shirt, my palms skimming up the smooth expanse of her back. Her skin is so soft, so warm, and she shivers again as I trace the line of her spine, my thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. She’s not wearing a bra. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and I groan, my cock throbbing painfully.
“You’re killing me,” I mutter, my voice rough.
She laughs, low and breathless, her nails scraping lightly over my scalp. “Good.”
I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, my hands still beneath her shirt, my thumbs now circling her nipples. They’re hard, pebbled under my touch, and she bites her lip, her eyelids fluttering.
“You like that?” I murmur, rolling them between my fingers, pinching just enough to make her gasp.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I keep touching her, teasing her, my mouth finding her neck again, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below her jaw. She moans, her body arching into mine, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles against my cock. The friction is maddening, the denim of my jeans rough against the softness of her leggings, but I don’t dare move my hands from her breasts. Not when she’s making sounds like that—not when her nails are digging into my shoulders, her breath coming in sharp, needy gasps.
“Phil, please,” she whimpers, her voice breaking.
I know what she wants. My fingers itch to find out just how ready she is, to slide inside her and feel her clench around me.
But not yet.
I want to savour this. Want to memorise every sound she makes, every way her body reacts to mine.
I pull her shirt over her head, tossing it aside. She’s bare, her breasts full and heavy, her nipples dark and tight. My mouth waters.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, my hands cupping her, my thumbs brushing over her nipples again. “So beautiful.”
She whimpers, her head falling back as I lean in, my tongue flicking over one tight peak before I draw it into my mouth. She tastes like salt and something sweet, like caramel and sin, and I suck harder, my free hand sliding down to grip her hip, holding her still as she writhes against me.
“Phil—oh fuck—” Her fingers tangle in my hair, her back arching, pushing her breast deeper into my mouth. I lavish attention on her, switching between her nipples, nipping and soothing with my tongue until she’s panting, her thighs trembling around mine.