My fingers twist through his hair. “Tiny,” I gasp, my voice breaking.
He hums against me like he loves hearing his name from my mouth. The pleasure builds, steady and relentless. I come hard, trembling, breathless, crying out his name without shame.
Tiny rises immediately, pulling me into his arms and holding me upright against his chest. His lips press to my temple, his jaw tight with restraint.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, voice wrecked.
I laugh softly, breath shaking. “You did that.”
Tiny’s hands slide down my back, gripping me. Then he lays me back, slow and careful. He hovers over me, eyes locked on mine.
No fear in me. Only need. Only love. Only the deep hunger that comes from being chosen.
Tiny slides inside me, slowly filling me with a depth that makes my breath catch. He holds still for a moment, closing his eyes, as if he’s fighting emotion as much as pleasure.
“I love you,” he rasps.
I cup his face, pulling him closer. “Then love me.”
Tiny moves, slow at first, deep strokes that make my body arch toward him, my hands sliding over his shoulders and down his arms, tracing scars. His rhythm steadies, grows stronger, until the bed creaks softly beneath us and my breath turns into soft, broken sounds.
He presses kisses to my mouth, my jaw, my throat, as if he can’t stop, as if he needs to touch me everywhere.
“I’m yours,” he murmurs.
“And I’m yours,” I answer. “Not owned. Chosen.”
He thrusts deeper, harder, and my body clenches around him as pleasure rolls through me in waves. It builds again, fast and intense. My legs wrap around his waist, and my nails dig into his back.
“Ethan!” I cry, voice shaking. “I’m close.”
“Come for me,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Come on, baby. That’s it.”
The climax hits like a storm. My whole body shakes beneath him as pleasure rips through me, blurring my vision and leaving my throat raw from his name. Tiny follows immediately, burying his face in my neck and holding me tight as he loses control, his whole body shuddering as if it can’t contain the feeling.
Tiny collapses beside me and pulls me into his chest, wrapping his body around mine. Like he finally gets to keep something good and isn’t letting go.
I curl into him, sweaty, breathless, and content. His hand glides up and down my back in slow strokes that calm both of us.
“I meant it,” Tiny whispers into my hair. “All of it.”
I tilt my head up and kiss his throat. “So did I.”
Peanut hops onto the bed like she owns the damn place, circles once, then settles on Tiny’s stomach with a loud purr. I laugh, the sound soft and full.
Tiny kisses my forehead. “Even the cat approves.”
“She knows what’s real,” I murmur.
Tiny’s fingers trace my spine, slow and protective. “You’re mine,” he whispers again, but this time it’s not hunger. It’s reverence.
For the first time in my life, the idea of belonging does not feel like a trap. It feels like love. It feels like peace. It feels like home.
Tiny’s breathing slows, but his grip never loosens.
His arm is wrapped around my waist, heavy and protective. My cheek is pressed to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
Peanut purrs like a tiny engine on his stomach, her weight warm against his skin. Tiny’s hand rests over her absentmindedly, fingers stroking her back like it’s instinctive, as if love is something he gives without realizing he’s doing it.