Her hands slip into my hair, tugging gently at the roots.
“You don’t have to protect me from this,” she says. “You’re not going to break me or scare me.”
I look away.
She presses her forehead to mine. That’s when it hits me, not the words, not her hands, but her eyes. Looking at me with love.
I exhale.
Then I let my head drop to her shoulder.
And finally, I let her hold me.
Not as mercenary.
Not as her protector.
Just as a man who’s fucking tired.
I wake with the sun peeking through the window. Aspen’s curled into my side, her breath slow against my ribs, soft fingers tangled in the sheet.
And it fucking hits me: today might be the last time I get to touch her, the last time I kiss her, the last time I feel her skin, her warmth,herfucking heartbeatnext to mine.
My chest tightens.
It’s never felt like this before a mission. Before? If I died, I died. Fuck it. That was the job.
But now? She’s here, next to me.
Sitting up, I grip the edge of the bed, try to breathe through the hammering in my chest. Then I look down at her again, and the need hits me like a freight train.
I shift closer, wrap my hand around my cock, and rub it against her ass.
She stirs but doesn’t wake. I pause, waiting. When she settles, I press the head to her pussy and push in, just the tip, then pull back, spit on my hand, rub it over myself, and slide in again, slower this time.
She moans, soft and breathy.
I spit again and push deeper. Her body responds, wetter now, her hips twitching against mine.
“Knox?” she mumbles, her tone thick with sleep.
“I need you,” I whisper, pressing in another inch. “One last time.”
Her breath hitches.
Then she moves, pulling me in with her body, pressing back, and I go deeper.
I wrap my arm around her waist, hold her tight to me, and start fucking herslow. Slow enough to feel every pulse, every squeeze, every goddamn second of her wrapped around me.
I rub her clit with my thumb, circling gently, coaxing her awake through the haze.
“I need to hear you come, Aspen,” I whisper. “I need it.” I fucking beg her.
Her hips start to roll, small thrusts meeting mine, her moans getting louder.
“Faster, Reaper,” she breathes.
Fuck.
