His mouth lands on mine, kissing me hotly and passionately. Reminding me of our wedding night. It was the first time I'd let myself go with a man.
But this isn't just about desire anymore. This is about proving to myself that I'm still whole, still his, still me after everything that happened. The bruises have faded, but the memory lingers like smoke in my lungs. Tonight, I need to burn it all away.
"Dani," he breathes against my lips, his hands framing my face like I'm something precious. Something that might break.
"Don't," I whisper, knowing what he's thinking. "Don't treat me like glass, Devil. I need you to want me the way you used to."
His eyes search mine in the dim light filtering through our front windows. Those dark eyes that have seen me at my strongest and my most broken. "I never stopped wanting you, baby. Not for a second."
"Then show me." The words come out rougher than I intended, but I don't take them back. I can't. These past weeks have been torture, sleeping in the same bed but feeling like strangers, him afraid to touch me and me afraid to ask him to.
His hands slide down to the thin straps of my cover-up, the fabric so delicate it might as well be tissue paper. One sharp tug and it falls away, leaving me in just my red bikini. The same red as the stripes on his Harley, the same red as the roses he brought me on our first date.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he growls, his voice thick with need. His calloused hands trace the edges of the bikini top, and I shiver despite the warmth radiating from his body.
I reach for his cut, sliding it off his broad shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. My fingers work at the edges of his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin, needing the proof that this is real. That we're real.
His hands are everywhere. In my hair, sliding down my back, gripping my hips and pulling me closer. The front door is hard against my spine, but I don't care. I need this urgency, this desperation that says we can't wait another second.
"I missed you," I gasp as his mouth finds that sensitive spot just below my ear. "God, Devil, I fucking missed this."
"Missed you too, darlin'. Every damn day." His teeth graze my collarbone, and I arch into him, my body remembering what my mind has been trying to forget—how good we are together, how right this feels.
The bikini top joins the cover-up on the floor, his hands covering my aching breasts, palms teasing the hard nipples. His touch is reverent as he maps the curves he's memorized a hundred times before. But there's something different now, something hungrier. Like he's trying to claim every inch of me, mark me as his in a way that will erase everything I went through.
"Upstairs," I manage, though moving seems impossible when he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters in the world.
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward our bedroom. Our sanctuary. The place where we've shared our secrets and our dreams, where we've made love and fought and made up again. The place I've been able to feel safe the last three weeks, and the place where I want to give myself to him tonight.
The stairs creak under his weight, a familiar sound that grounds me in this moment. This is our house, our life, our love that's survived everything thrown at it.
He sets me down gently beside our king-sized bed, the one we picked out together when we first moved in. The moonlight streams through the sheer curtains, casting everything in silver and shadow. He looks like a god in this light, all hard muscle and dangerous ink across his chest.
"You sure about this?" he asks, his thumb tracing my lower lip. With my tongue, I reach out and lick the pad. He hisses."We can take it slow, baby. We got all the time in the world."
But that's just it; we don't. Life is fragile and unpredictable, and I've learned that the hard way. Tomorrow isn't promised, so I need tonight to be everything.
"I'm sure." I reach for him, pulling him down to me. "I need you, Devil. All of you."
He kisses me again, deeper this time, his hands tangling in my hair. I lose myself in the taste of him, the feel of his stubble against my skin, the way he groans my name like a prayer.
The rest of our clothes disappear in a tangle of hands and whispered endearments. When skin finally meets skin, I feel like I can breathe again for the first time in weeks. This is what I've been missing, not just the physical connection, but the emotional intimacy that comes with letting someone see you completely.
He worships every inch of me with his mouth and hands, familiarizing himself with all the places he used to know so well. It's only been a few weeks, but it feels as if it's been a lifetime. When I arch beneath him, gasping his name, he murmurs against my skin. "I love you, I'll never let anyone hurt you again."
I know he’ll never let another enemy of the club hurt me, but if what Tommy said is true, he could hurt me worse than anyone else has, or ever could. Right now I want him, want this. His hand travels down my stomach, past my belly button, until his fingers are at the entrance to my pussy.
"You okay?" He asks, breath hot against my neck.
"Yeah." I swallow roughly, spreading my legs to give him more room, relaxing against the mattress. "Please.." I beg.
His fingers test my wetness, and he groans loudly. "Fuck…"
"Yeah," I answer, gasping as he calmly uses two and then his thumb at my clit. "Don't fuckin' stop, Devil."
His arm moves with the rhythm of his thrusts, and I reach down to hang onto his forearm, tossing my head against the pillows. His mouth moves down my chest, to capture a nipple in between his teeth, pulling roughly. It's everything I need.
The first time I fall apart in his arms, it's with tears streaming down my face, not from pain, but from relief. Relief that I can still feel this, still lose myself in pleasure, still trust him with my body and heart.
