And then my tongue is plunging into her mouth and I’m taking everything that has been mine since long before I understood how to truly appreciate it. Brielle. My Tiny Dancer. My fucking everything.
Kissing her feels like coming home.
I spent years searching for a place that was mine, a place where I could be free. I found it with the Steels Sinners, something I’ll be forever grateful for. But there was also something missing, something I never put into words because then I would have to acknowledge it and I couldn’t.
Because it was always her.
When she moans, I swallow down the sound and grind the hard length of my dick against the apex of her thighs. She moves her hips against mine, seeking, needing, fucking feeling.
“Wait,” she gasps and breaks the kiss, “you kept track of me from a distance?”
The chuckle that comes out of me is sinister. I’m sure as fuck not ashamed of doing what I needed to do. Not when she was on the other side of the country and I had the resources to keep aneye on her. I told myself it was just in case, but the reality was that there was never any hope of me letting go of her. Or moving on.
“Of course I did,” I grunt, not sounding even a little bit sorry because I’m not. Not even a little bit.
“That’s,” she breathes out, “kind of creepy.”
I bark out a laugh while watching my woman’s face closely. She might have said the words, but she’s not creeped out. Not even a little bit.
“I’m not going to apologize for it. I never got involved, I just made sure to get reports every now and again. Sometimes I would get a video of your performances. Once I had the ability to do it with the connections the club provided, I couldn’t not know.” My scowl deepens as I add, “Clearly, I should have gotten them more regularly because I hadn’t heard anything about you moving out here.”
Brielle swallows hard and nods slowly. “Okay.”
I arch an eyebrow, my voice all challenge, “Okay?”
The way she nibbles on her bottom lip is a fucking distraction. I pull her away from her door, loving the way she tightens her hold on me, and then I’m stalking through her small apartment.
I know why she didn’t splurge for something bigger. Rian didn’t just tell me about them dancing together, she was more than happy to tell me about my woman’s dream to open her own dance studio.
I’ve already started to put out feelers for the right location.
Because I can make this dream come true for her. I’m just selfish enough to do it to ensure she won’t want or need to go anywhere else.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about sinking balls deep in your tight, wet pussy since you bumped into me the other day,” I grit out the words, my teeth clenched together so damn hard that she must hear them grinding together.
After stomping into her bedroom, I kick the door shut behind me, the sound final in the quiet of her small apartment. The whimper that falls from my woman’s plump lips feels like pouring gasoline on an already raging fire. As lust courses through my bloodstream, I don’t need the fuel, but I’m not going to deny how it only makes me want her more.
Fuck. How did I go so many fucking years without her in my arms? For too long I didn’t have anything to focus on and couldn’t ignore the hole in my soul she left behind. Then I had too much to keep me occupied. Still, the hole never went away. It’s glaringly obvious now.
I put Brielle back on her feet and my hands are cupping her face, needing her eyes on mine, needing her to see and understand.
“What are we doing?” Her question is tentative, like if she gives it too much volume, too much space, she’ll be swept away by the possibility this moment contains.
“I’m claiming my woman. Again. This time it’ll be forever though, Brielle.” My voice is serious because I need her to hear me clearly. “I won’t let you go again. You’ll be my Old Lady, and you’ll have the club at your back. You’ll always have a seat on the back of my bike and a home with me and Rian.”
Tears glisten in my woman’s eyes as she lets out a shuddering breath.
“I’m scared,” her voice is filled with vulnerability which pierces my heart.
“I know,” my voice has dropped an octave, the throbbing of my dick behind the fly of my jeans almost impossible to ignore, “I am too. But you walked back into my life, and it’s become painfully obvious just how much I’ve missed you over the years. I can’t let you go again. Fuck,” I chuckle lowly, “I can’t even go five minutes without thinking about you now.”
“I missed you too,” she whispers her confession and I swallow it down as if I can taste her heartbreak and yearning on my tongue.
When I kiss her this time, there’s nothing tentative about it. Kissing her is familiar, but it’s also new. Because there are 18 years of moments and memories between us that we didn’t experience together. As my tongue slides between her lips and we explore each other, we begin the process of relearning. Of finding each other again.
My hands sweep over the gentle curves of her body, mapping and memorizing. But I’m also tugging her clothing off and discarding it on the floor around us. Proof. Evidence. Of our need. Of our passion.
When she’s naked, I pull back just enough for my eyes to sweep down her body and back up. She’s changed in subtle ways and some more obvious. But she’s still just as gorgeous as I remember. Maybe even more.