But he doesn’t move. He’s holding me in place with the weight of his body, and I have nowhere to go.
“Give me your eyes, Angel,” he grits the words out through his teeth. My eyes snap open and he’s looking down at me with forever written all over his face. “There’s my Graycie-girl,” he rasps. “Eyes on me; don’t look away,” he commands.
And I listen.
Every glide of his length inside of me.
As he starts moving faster.
When his hips punch forward harder.
Our eyes stay locked.
And I can see the promises. The way he’ll protect me. The way he’ll support me.
I can feel it in the way his hands find my skin, skimming and claiming, reminding and relearning. His touch feels familiar in the best of ways, but it’s exciting. New.
“Turner,” his name becomes a chant on my lips.
Moaned into the space surrounding us, where nothing can touch us, where nothing else matters. We move together, meeting and parting, finding each other again and again. As it should be.
As it will always be.
When he kisses me, it’s to swallow my sounds because he wants to know how they taste.
“I can feel how close you are,” he growls. “You’re pretty pussy is telling me you just need a little more.”
Turner reaches between us, his thumb finding my clit. He touches me like he already knows my body.
All while not looking way.
When I come, his name is on my lips and he watches me closely. Cataloging. Remembering.
He fucks me right through my orgasm, watching and waiting. And then he lets out a sound from deep in his chest.
Primal.
Claiming.
A roar that resonates and tells all who can hear that this is forever.
My name. His promises.
They whisper around us and hide in our ragged breathing. And I let myself believe. In him. In the family he’s offering me. In a home, even though I have no idea what that means beyond a dream of what could be.
I feel him pulling out of me as my eyes flutter closed. But now I’m tired and my brain can shut off.
Because of him.
Turner cleans me up and then gently gets me under his comforter, which is surprisingly fluffy. He slides in behind me and pulls me back against his chest, wrapping me up in his warmth. Along with something else which has been left unsaid.
Silence doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Just that it hasn’t been given voice.
“You’re safe here, Graycie-girl,” Turner whispers against my neck, his head tucked against me as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I won’t.
Not now.