His body covers mine, knee sliding between my thighs, weight settling over me in a way that's both grounding and electrifying.
He's careful—so careful. Every move is measured. Every pause is a check-in.
He kisses my jaw, the corner of my mouth, the shell of my ear.
His breath is hot. His hand slides up my side, fingers splaying across my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. "Hadley."
His voice is a prayer against my skin.
"Stay with me. That's it. Look at me, Hadley."
I do. Every time he says my name I meet his eyes, and something in me unravels just a little more.
He lowers his mouth to my collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue soothing.
My back arches before I can stop it.
His hand finds the clasp of my jeans. He pauses again and looks at me.
I nod, and he eases the button open, pulls the zipper down slow enough to make me ache.
The denim slips over my hips, past my thighs, and he helps me kick them off. Then his hand comes back, palm flat against my belly, dipping lower.
"You're so beautiful," he says, and the way he says it—like it's a fact he's been holding onto—makes my breath catch.
He works me open with his fingers, slow and deliberate, watching my face the whole time.
He finds the rhythm I need before I know I need it.
My hips roll against his hand. I make sounds I don't recognize—low and desperate.
He answers them with pressure, with pace, with the pad of his thumb circling where I'm most sensitive. "Let go, Hadley. I've got you."
And I do.
I come apart with my face pressed to his shoulder, my hand tangled in his hair, my chest flattened against the chain that holds Garrett's ring.
The orgasm crashes through me in waves, and he doesn't stop, doesn't rush, just rides it out with me until I'm trembling and breathless beneath him.
Then he moves over me, and I feel him—hard and ready against my thigh.
I reach down and guide him, and he pushes into me slow, inch by inch, filling me so completely I gasp.
"Hadley," he breathes into my hair.
"Yeah."
He moves like he's memorizing me. Each stroke deep and deliberate, his forehead pressed to mine, his breathing ragged and uneven.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pull him deeper, and he groans low in his chest.
"Come again," he says. "Come with me."
I do. He feels it—the way I tighten around him, the sound I make against his mouth—and he follows, sinking into me one last time and holding himself there, shuddering, his forehead against mine while we both come back to ourselves.
He doesn't pull out right away. Doesn't move. Just stays, heavy and warm, and I feel every heartbeat of his through my chest.
The chain at my throat is warm between us.