The sleepy smile on her lips?
It wrecks me.
She reaches for me—one slow, inviting curl of her fingers—and I go without hesitation. Crawl over her and brace my forearms on either side of her head like I’ve done a hundred times before. Sex with her still feels new. Electric. She tilts her face up, and I meet her lips with a tender, reverent kiss, then deepen it into something hungrier.
My cock is already hard again—has been since she woke up. I don’t rush, though. I lower my mouth to her neck, dragging my lips across the soft skin just beneath her ear. She shivers and tilts her head to give me more.
“God, Seamus,” she breathes.
I hum against her skin, trailing kisses down the slope of her shoulder, over the swell of her breast, and finally closing my mouth over her nipple. Her back arches like it always does—beautiful and instinctive—and I lick and suck until her fingers are in my hair, tugging, guiding.
“More,” she whispers, hips rocking against me. “Please.”
I slide my hand down the warm curve of her belly, then lower, until my fingers slip through slick heat.
Fuck.
Always so ready for me.
I stroke her slowly, circling her clit until her legs fall open wider, her thighs trembling as I build her up, up, up. I don’t let her come—not yet.
When I finally slide inside her, it’s one long, deliberate thrust, so exquisite it punches a hole in my chest. Her breath hitches and her legs wrap around my hips, locking me in place like she can’t stand the idea of any space between us.
This isn’t a quick fuck. It’s not frantic or wild.
It’s something else.
It’s the way she gasps my name like it’s the only word she remembers. The way her nails dig into my back when I angle just right. Slide against the spot that makes her come undone every single time. The way she looks at me—eyes wide, lips parted, makes me feel like I’m giving her something she didn’t know she needed.
We move together like we’ve done this for years. Like we’ve memorized each other’s rhythm in another life and are just falling back into it now.
Her hands frame my face, fingers sliding into my hair, and I brace one arm under her shoulder, the other on her hip, pulling her into each thrust. Her breasts press against my chest, her skin hot and slick with sweat, and every inch of her feels like fucking heaven.
“Harder,” she whispers, her voice ragged.
I shift, digging my knees into the mattress and drive into her harder, deeper. Her moan catches in her throat, one hand clinging to my shoulder while the other slides down between us.
“Let me,” I pant, and she nods, allowing me take over.
I rub her clit in tight, perfect circles, never breaking rhythm. I can tell her body starts to react by the way her inner muscles grip my cock like a vise.
“Let go.” I press my forehead to hers. “Come for me, baby.”
She breaks with a cry—low, guttural, desperate. Her body trembles beneath mine, her back arching, mouth open as she falls apart. I ride it out, every flex of her body dragging me closer to the edge.
When she starts to come down, I slow just enough to keep us connected, then shift again—rolling her on top of me in one motion. She blinks down at me, dazed and glowing.
“Ride me.” I brush her hair off her face.
Marcella sinks down on me slowly, taking me back in with a shudder. Her mouth drops open. “Fuck…”
She starts to move, her hands braced on my chest, her pace unhurried and delicious. Every roll of her hips is heaven. Watching her like this—hair wild, breasts bouncing, skin flushed, pleasure etched into every line of her face—makes it impossible to last.
I grasp her waist, thrusting up to meet her, losing myself in the rhythm we create. It’s raw. Intimate. Holy, even.
“I love you,” I breathe.
Her eyes fly open. “Say it again.”
