Page 53 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

Our eyes meet, and in his gaze I see all the words we've left unspoken—the hurt we've caused each other, the time we've lost, the fear we've finally overcome. But more than that, I see our future—uncertain in its details but absolute in its promise. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.

I rise on tiptoes, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that begins as gentle affirmation but quickly deepens into something more urgent. My arms wind around his neck as his hands span my waist, drawing me closer until not even air exists between us. The familiar heat of desire pools low in my belly, but there's something different about it now—a richness, a depth that transcends mere physical attraction.

"Dean," I breathe against his mouth, his name both plea and prayer. "I need you."

He makes a sound low in his throat, almost a growl, before lifting me effortlessly into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist, my sundress riding up to my thighs as he carries me to the bed. When he lays me down, his eyes are dark with want but also something deeper—a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

"I've dreamed of this," he admits, bracing himself above me on his forearms. "Not just the physical part, but this moment. You, wearing my ring, looking at me like..."

"Like what?" I prompt when he trails off.

"Like I'm everything you want," he finishes, vulnerability clear in his voice. "Like you're not going to run away this time."

I reach up to cup his face, making sure he sees the absolute certainty in my eyes. "I'm not running anywhere. Not from you. Not ever again."

Something shifts in his expression—the last of his guardedness falling away, leaving only Dean, my Dean, open and undefended. He bends to kiss me again, a kiss that feels like coming home and setting out on an adventure all at once.

Our clothing falls away under eager hands—his shirt first, then my dress, pulled over my head with reverent care. Each newly exposed inch of skin is explored with lips and fingertips, rediscovering familiar territory with the wonder of travelers returning after a long absence.

"I missed this," I murmur as his mouth trails down my neck to the sensitive hollow of my throat. "Missed you. Your touch, your taste."

"Tell me more," he encourages, his lips moving lower still, tracing the edge of my bra. "Tell me what you missed."

His request ignites something in me—a need to express all that I've kept locked away these two years, all the longing and regret and loneliness. "I missed the way you know exactly how to touch me," I confess as his hands slide beneath me to unhook my bra. "How you remember every spot that makes me gasp."

As if to prove my point, his mouth closes around one nipple, tongue circling in the precise way that sends electricity shooting down my spine. I arch into him with a moan, my fingers tangling in his hair.

"What else?" he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot as he moves to lavish equal attention on my other breast.

"The weight of you above me," I continue, my voice growing breathier as his hand slides down my stomach to the waistband of my underwear. "How safe I feel in your arms, like nothing bad can touch me."

Dean lifts his head to meet my gaze, his own heavy-lidded with desire but focused intently on my face. "Nothing bad will touch you," he promises, his fingers slipping beneath the lace to find me wet and ready for him. "Not while I'm here."

I gasp as he slides one finger inside me, then another, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves that has me writhing beneath him. "Dean, please," I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for—relief, more, everything.

"Not yet," he says, pressing a kiss to my hipbone as he draws my underwear down my legs. "I want to take my time with you. Want to memorize you all over again."

And he does, using lips and tongue and fingers to map every inch of my body, drawing responses from me I'd forgotten I was capable of. By the time he settles between my thighs, I'm a trembling mess of need and anticipation.

The first touch of his mouth against my core tears a cry from my throat, my hips bucking involuntarily. Dean's hands grip my thighs, holding me open and still as he worships me with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. I've been with other men during our time apart—encounters that satisfied physical needs but left me emotionally hollow. Nothing, no one, has ever made me feel the way Dean does, like I'm simultaneously falling apart and being put back together in some new, improved form.

"Dean," I gasp as the tension builds, coiling tighter with each precise movement of his tongue. "I'm close, I'm?—"

"Let go, sweetheart," he encourages, the endearment sending a fresh wave of heat through me. "I've got you."

And I do, shattering beneath him with a cry that might be his name, might be a prayer, might be nothing coherent at all. He works me through it gently, easing me down from the peak with soft kisses to my inner thighs.

When I open my eyes, he's watching me with a mixture of satisfaction and raw need that makes my heart race all over again. "Come here," I urge, reaching for him.

He moves up my body, settling between my legs, his arousal evident against my still-sensitive flesh. I reach between us to guide him, but he catches my hand, bringing it to his lips instead.

"Wait," he says, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. "I need to know this is real. That tomorrow you won't wake up and regret this, regret us."

The vulnerability in his request makes my throat tight with emotion. I touch his face, making sure he sees the certainty in my eyes. "I won't regret a thing," I promise. "I love you, Dean. I want this—want you—more than I've ever wanted anything."

Something in his expression breaks open at my words, the last of his doubt giving way to raw emotion. He captures my lips in a kiss that's almost desperate in its intensity, his tongue tangling with mine as he finally, finally pushes inside me in one smooth thrust.

The sensation of fullness, of rightness, draws a gasp from us both. For a moment, we're perfectly still, connected in the most intimate way possible, savoring the reunification of our bodies. Then Dean begins to move, setting a rhythm that's neither hurried nor leisurely but perfectly attuned to the emotion of the moment.

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