Page 47 of Infinite
16
Quinn
The second I enter her, everything shifts. She comes alive, and I know it deep in my soul that nothing can break us now. I can sense every part of her is mine again. It’s something that I’ve seen played out in movies but never thought was real.
It is.
It’s very real, and it’s happening, she’s here with me. I’ve broken through that wall she built around herself.
This is my Ashton.
The woman who I’ve loved has finally returned. I hover above her, her heat surrounding me, burning me, branding me, and I’m giving it right back.
I push deeper, filling her and praying that it’ll make her feel less empty. My head is pressed into her neck, breathing her scent as she kisses my skin.
“You feel so good,” I tell her.
I want her to know that nothing has changed for me. I loved her then, and I’ll love her forever. There’s nothing that she can say or do to push me away. I want to marry her and build a life together.
She pants, and I start to lose my restraint. Being inside her is like a heaven I thought I’d never know again.
“Take me,” Ashton yells. “Take me and don’t let me go!”
“Never!”
I wanted the first time after our loss to be sweet so that I could show her how much I love her, but this is how we were meant to be. We aren’t docile—we’re fucking eruptive. Each time I thrust into her, I claim another part of her, taking what’s mine—her.
There is no holding back, I can’t stop the suddenness of my orgasm. It tears through me, ripping me to shreds, and I don’t fucking care.
She’s mine.
Always.
I savor the bite of her nails in my back as she holds on, yelling my name as she loses herself.
My heart is pounding, strength is depleted, but I lean up so I can look at her. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but there’s a hesitancy in her eyes.
No. I won’t do this again.
We can’t go back in time, and I can’t watch her retreat into the shell of a woman she was this morning. “Ashton, please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t go backward.” I push back her hair, staring into the blue eyes that have a bit of life in them.
“I’m not . . . I’m . . . recovering.”
That’s just it, she’s not. She’s wallowing and pulling away from everyone and everything she loves. Her job, me, her friends, her family have become peripheral things when we used to be front and center.
I thought that this was her returning to me. It’s been weeks, and now that I’ve tasted her life again, I can’t watch it slip away.
“Recover with me. You don’t have to do this on your own.”
“I wish it were that simple. Please let me up.”
The hope and elation I felt is gone. She’s doing it, and I won’t be able to stop her. I move off her, and she heads into the bathroom. Minutes pass, and the longer she takes, the more I start to worry.
