She hasn’t stepped away from you or shaken off your hands.
“You want it to be real?” She asks the question like it’s a bomb about to blow up in her face.
“Would it be so bad? Could you,” I force myself to look in her eyes, “see yourself giving it a real try?”
“Yes,” she breathes out the word without any hesitation.
And I know.
I fucking know.
This is a real chance. It’s all I need to know.
My movements are slow, giving her more than enough time to stop me or pull away, but she doesn’t move. I don’t even think she breathes. And then my lips are pressing against hers.
She melts into me and it feels like I’ve won a contest I didn’t know I was entering. Her lips part and she sucks in a breath. My hand slides a little higher, my fingers wrapping forward around her neck. I can feel the thump of her pulse and the way she’s trembling in my arms.
“Rook,” she moans into my mouth.
Something snaps inside of me and my tongue plunges inside her mouth to play with hers. Kissing her feels like something new, something exciting. But it’s also familiar in a way I want to hold onto.
“Tell me,” I demand against her lips.
Her hands slide up the outside of my arms until she latches onto my shoulders, her nails digging in and grounding me in the moment. My hands flex on her body, needing to hold her tighter, needing more of her.
“I want this,” her voice tight. “I want you.”
It’s not the confession I was hoping for, but it’s enough. It’s more than fucking enough.
My hands find her hips, and I lift her easily while her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her blindly through her place. It’s not very big, which means it isn’t difficult to find her bedroom.
Part of me wants to wait, to wait until I can have her in our bed, the one we’ll be sharing for the rest of our lives if it’s up to me. But I know I’m not strong enough to hold off.
I want her too fucking badly.
“Meadow,” I groan, “you feel so good in my arms.”
The mewl that comes from her throat is part purr, part needy sound. When I lay her out on her bed, my hands find the waistband of her leggings. My fingers hook there and tug the fabric down her legs. I don’t bother looking where I’m tossing the cloth, discarding it with a hint of disgust because it hid her from me.
Mine.
A single word. It roars through my mind.
She’s mine.
My hands slide up the sides of her torso, gliding along her ribs and taking her shirt with me. She lifts up enough to allow me to slide the shirt free of her body. My cock throbs at the sight in front of me.
“You’re stunning, my Wildflower,” I murmur with reverence.
“Wildflower?” The word gets caught in her throat as she looks up at me with hope.
Even though everything in me wants to go fast, I force myself to still. “Whenever I think of you, I think of a meadow filled with wildflowers. Strong and resilient and there to exist in the happiness, in the moments that make people smile while not demanding to be witnessed at all.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and her arms reach for me. But I don’t go to her yet. Instead, I strip down. Only then do I cover her body with mine. I crave the feeling of her skin against mine.
Meadow twines her arms around my neck, her face open in a way she hasn’t allowed me to see before. She’s so damn beautiful.
“Meadow,” I murmur her name as I lower myself over her. Our skin touches and we both hiss out a breath at the contact. “Are you sure about this? We can wait if you want. I don’t want to rush you, or rush into this.”