Page 93 of At First Flight
Pulling out, I flip her around, jerking her hips in the air so I can get deeper. So she can feel me all over her body for the next day. I want to mark her.
I watch her hands claw and grip at the bedding as I plunge my shaft into her repeatedly. Lila’s hips move in tandem, rocking back in time with mine.
We’re our own symphony building toward our crescendo.
Feeling her walls clench around my cock, I flip her around again, wanting to see her face as she reaches her orgasm.Without asking, she reaches for those damn wooden slats of the headboard.
When we come, it’s not silent. It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s a surrender. And she’s the fucking captain.
Her body clenches around mine, and I bury my face in her neck as the release rips through both of us. She holds the slats like it’s salvation.
And I hold her.
She’s still trembling under me when I finally collapse onto the bed beside her, my breath ragged, her skin damp and flushed. Her fingers slide from the wood, dropping to the sheets like she’s too tired to move.
Outside, the storm has begun to quiet. Raindrops soften against the windows, thunder a distant grumble now. But inside me? It’s still chaos. The kind that stirs when you realize you’re halfway in love and unprepared for what comes next.
I turn my head and look at her. Lila’s lips are parted, her chest rising and falling like she just ran a mile, her waves splayed across my pillow. She’s breathtaking.
And she’s still here.
That matters more than I know how to explain.
“I should feel ridiculous,” she whispers after a minute, her voice still breathy. “I’m pretty sure I screamed. I hope I didn’t wake the kids.”
“You did, and they’re fine,” I say with a smile, my fingers brushing along her arm. “It was the best sound I’ve ever heard.”
She laughs softly, then goes quiet again.
For a long moment, we lie there. Nothing but the storm and the sound of our breathing. Her head shifts to rest on my chest, and I wrap my arm around her waist like it’s instinct.
“This wasn’t just sex,” I say vulnerably. Not a question. Not a plea. Just a fact I need spoken aloud.
“No,” she says, even quieter. “It wasn’t.”
I close my eyes, trying to breathe around the sudden weight in my chest. Because as terrifying as it is, I already know…
I want more. I want to wake up with her tangled in my sheets. I want her barefoot in the kitchen with a toddler on her hip and pancake batter on her shirt. I want what my best friend has. I want every ordinary, messy, beautiful day with her.
“You okay?” she asks after a long silence.
I nod once. Then again. “Yeah. Just… trying to hold on to this.”
She shifts onto her side, her hand sliding up to my chest, right over my heart. “It’s not going anywhere.”
But something in her voice tells me she doesn’t fully believe it.
And neither do I. Because we haven’t said the big things yet. Haven’t touched the sharp edges of what this all means.
I roll to face her, sliding my hand along her jaw, cupping her face. “I don’t do this, Lila. I don’t let people in. Not like this.”
She swallows. “I know.”
“I didn’t plan on you. I didn’t even know I could want something this real again. But I do. I want you. And not just in the jokingly ‘you’ll be my wife someday’ but for real in all the ways that matter.”
Her thumb brushes against my jaw. “You have me,” she whispers. “But—”
That word stops me.
