“Show me,” she demands, pupils wide, lips swollen from my kiss.
“I can't go slow,” I warn against her mouth, my voice ragged. “Not tonight. Not with you.”
“Prove it.” George reaches up, tracing her fingers along my jaw, down my throat, across the tattoo over my heart. Her eyes find mine, challenge and vulnerability swirling in their depths. "Stop holding back.”
The certainty in her voice breaks something open inside me. The certainty in her voice shatters the last of my defenses. Years of keeping people at a calculated distance collapse in seconds under the weight of her trust.
I lower myself to her, claiming her mouth again, gentler this time but no less thorough. “Good, because I'm going to show you what it means to be mine.”
I carry her to the bedroom, refusing to break contact even for a second. When I finally lay her on the bed, I hover over her, drinking in the sight, her hair spread across my pillow, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark and wanting.
Mine. She's finally completely mine.
Our clothes seem to melt from our bodies until we’re naked, skin pressed against skin, hearts pounding. Her hands are everywhere, tracing scars and gripping muscle as she learns me thoroughly.
George's fingers tangle in my hair, tugging hard enough to make me groan.
Somewhere between kisses, she smiles against my lips—a curve of satisfaction that twists something fierce in my chest. We're not fighting anymore. We're home. The relief in her eyes mirrors what's expanding in my chest—this isn't just desire. It's recognition. Belonging.
This time is ours. Peace and magic. Hours and hours of it, and it belongs only to us.
George arches into the caress of my hand as I slide it over her rounded stomach, my fingers stroking delicately as they drift across her sensitive skin. My stubble abrades the skin of her throat as I nuzzle her there before soothing it with my lips. Her hips lift and jerk as I spread her slick folds and slide my fingers inside her in a deep, velvety stroke.
My teeth catch her nipple in a delicate pinch that makes her press her head into the pillow. She writhes, her nails digging tiny divots into the flesh of my shoulders. My name trickles from her lips in a litany, demanding, pleading as my thumb finds her clit, circling and pressing, driving her to the edge.
“Beckett, please. I need you. I?—”
Her plea ends in a choked moan as I thrust into her silken depths.
Home.
The word echoes in my head, a raw truth settling deep in my bones.
George shudders beneath me, her body clenching around mine, drawing me in, anchoring me to this moment, to her. There’s no past here, no ghosts, no battlefields.
I brace my forearms beside her head, my fingers tangling in her hair as I press my forehead against hers. Her breath is my breath. Her heart is my salvation.
She cups my face, dragging my mouth back to hers, kissing me like I’m everything. Like she belongs to me as much as I belong to her.
I roll my hips, finding a perfect rhythm that has her gasping, her nails pressing deep into my back. Her pleasure is my mission now. My only goddamn objective.
Her legs tighten around me, heels digging into my ass as she rocks up, meeting every thrust like she can’t get close enough. And neither can I.
“Beckett,” she whispers, her voice breaking like she’s giving me something sacred.
I groan, my control unraveling, but I hold back—barely. I need her to come first. Need to watch her shatter beneath me.
I slide a hand between us, pressing my thumb against her slick, swollen clit, circling, coaxing, worshipping.
Her body tightens, a sharp gasp breaking past her lips, and then?—
She splinters.
She clenches around me, pulsing and shaking, her moan dissolving into my mouth.
The sight of her, the feel of her, the sheer goddamn privilege of being with her like this is too much.
I thrust deep, hold her tight… and let go.
