“Ride me, baby,” I murmur against her. “Use me. I want to feel you lose it.”
She does — hips rocking against my face, chasing every flick of my tongue, every thrust of my fingers. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her breath coming faster, sharper, until I know she’s close.
I’m rock hard, straining against my zipper, every instinct in me screaming to get inside her. But I hold back, because I want this —needthis — to be the first thing she remembers about being in my house: me breaking her apart with my mouth before I even think about claiming her again.
Her orgasm is still trembling through her when I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I don’t give her time to come down — not when I’ve been holding back for this long.
I hook my arms under her thighs and lift her straight off the table, her arms instinctively wrapping around my shoulders. She’s warm, soft, still breathing fast against my neck, and it’s killing me not to be inside her already.
My bedroom’s only a few steps away, but it feels like a straight shot into every fantasy I’ve had about her. I set her down on the mattress, watching her sink into the rumpled sheets, her hair wild, lips swollen.
“On your knees, baby.”
Her eyes darken, but she obeys, moving to the center of the bed. The headboard’s mirrored panel catches the faint light from the window, and I step behind her, pulling her hips back until she’s exactly where I want her.
I press forward, letting her feel how hard I am against her slick heat. “Look at yourself,” I tell her, my voice low in her ear. “Watch me fuck you.”
She glances up, her gaze meeting mine in the glass just as I slide into her. The sight of her lips parting, her eyes fluttering, nearly unravels me.
“Yeah,” I groan, gripping her hips. “That’s it. Watch.”
I set the pace — deep, deliberate thrusts — my hand sliding up her spine to the back of her neck. I curl my fingers in her soft hair and tug, pulling her upright until her back is flush to my chest.
Her head tips to the side, exposing her neck, and I kiss her there, slow and possessive, while my other hand slides down between her legs. My fingers find her clit, stroking in time with my thrusts.
“Look at us,” I murmur against her skin. “Look how perfect you take me.”
Her breath hitches, her hands clutching the sheets, but her gaze stays locked on the mirror, watching every movement — every claim I make on her body.
She’s trembling in my arms, her body tightening around me with every stroke of my fingers, every deep push of my hips. I can feel how close she is — the way her breath catches, the little helpless sounds in her throat.
And then the words are justthere, raw and certain, no hesitation.
“Move in with me.”
Her eyes widen in the mirror, her mouth parting, and I keep thrusting, my fingers circling her clit, my grip in her hair holding her against me. “Be my girl, Lyla. Stay with me. We’ve waited long enough.”
Her head tips back against my shoulder, a soft, shuddering gasp escaping her. “Yes…” she whispers, the word almost breaking. “Yes.”
That’s all it takes. She shatters in my arms, her whole body pulsing around me as she comes, her nails digging into the sheets. I hold her through it, fucking her through every wave, until the tight pull in my own body finally snaps.
With a groan, I spill into her, our eyes locked in the mirror as we watch ourselves come apart together.
When I finally slow, we’re both breathing hard, still joined, still holding each other like neither one of us has any intention of letting go. I turn her head just enough to kiss her, deep and slow, sealing the promise I just made her — and the one she made me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lyla
Iwrap my arms around Mom, holding on for a little longer than usual. She smells like the lavender lotion she’s always loved, her sweater soft under my cheek. “I’m just across town,” I remind her, my voice tight. “And I’m coming by every week. Probably more.”
She pats my back, and I feel her smile against my hair. “You don’t have to hover, sweetheart. You’ve done enough. More than enough.”
I pull back, meeting her eyes. Some days they’re clear and focused. Some days, they’re not. Today… today feels like one of the good ones.
“If you need anything—” I start.
“I’ll call,” she promises, cutting me off gently. “But all I need is for you to be happy, Lyla. And I can see that you are.”
