Page 88 of Where She Belongs
I crawl onto the bed, positioning myself between her thighs, wanting to enter her slowly, fully, savoring every inch as I let her adjust to my length. She watches me with a ferocity that takes my breath away, her expression an exquisite mix of desire and anticipation.
When I sink into her, she lets out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Her legs tighten around me, a wordless plead for me to take her harder.
“Oh god,” she whispers, arching her back to take me deeper, burying me inside herself with such reckless abandon that I can’t help but groan. “Never stop.”
Her wet heat envelopes me, a perfect pressure building with each urgent thrust. Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer, her mouth finding mine, kissing me with an intensity that makes me shudder with need. We move together, an instinctive rhythm, the communication of body and soul.
Each subtle shift in mood and intention is understood without words, a perfect synchronization that makes this more than justsex. This is us, open and bare and taking what we’ve craved for so long.
As we near release, I feel Andrea winding tighter and tighter beneath me, her breath hitching in anticipation as her fingers dig into my shoulders. She’s so close, so impossibly close.
“Come for me,” I urge, pushing harder, faster, desperate to see her in the throes of it. “Let me see you come apart.”
Then she’s crying out, her orgasm slamming through her with unexpected force, clenching around me so fiercely that the sudden contraction sends me over the edge, too.
“Oh fuck,” I manage, spilling hot and deep within her as my muscles tighten with release. I never imagined it this way, never imagined the way she would surrender so completely to me. Her eyes are wide and stunned, still locked on mine as I ride out the last waves of my own climax.
We collapse together, bodies entwined, hearts pounding in unison. Breathing hard, our limbs a tangle of intimacy, we are lost in the delicious blur of post-orgasmic haze. It leaves me utterly speechless, breathless, dazed with the kind of satisfaction and wholeness I haven’t experienced since I was a teenager. A sense of homecoming wraps around me like a warm, familiar blanket, soothing and perfect and real.
“That was...” she begins, her voice as winded as mine, trailing off as if the words are too immense to grasp. She pauses, searchingfor the right way to capture this moment. Maybe there aren’t words, not even for her.
“Perfect,” I supply, feeling the truth of it deep in my bones. “Beyond perfect.” My face nuzzles against her neck, breathing her in, the scent of our shared exertion mingling with the rain-soaked air from the storm outside.
She pulls me closer still, her grip strong and possessive, unwilling to let go. I settle against her, feeling the incredible rightness of it. I am content to stay just like this for hours. Days, even. The idea of moving, of breaking this tender connection, seems unimaginable. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, skin against skin, hearts against hearts, cocooned in the fragile shelter of our intimacy and forgetting that the outside world even exists.
Because right now, this is the only thing that matters. Her. Us. This absolute certainty that we belong together, that we’ve wasted precious time denying the truth we both understood long ago. How could we have been so blind? So stubborn? So afraid?
We weren’t just two people who fit well together. We were more than a perfect match. We were made for each other.
And if that sounds too good to be true, I don’t care. I want to believe it, to revel in the joy of it, to chase it for as long as I’m able.
“I love you,” I whisper again, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, my heart swelling with the enormity of it all, the way I never quite imagined. “I love you, Andrea Martin.”
She smiles, nestling closer, burrowing into my side, her eyelids growing heavy with the kind of peaceful exhaustion that only comes from losing oneself completely.
“I love you too, Gabriel Alejandro Vasquez,” she murmurs, the sound a sweet, sleepy song. A perfect reassurance. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m here,” I promise, my forehead resting against hers, sealing the vow with a closeness that feels eternal. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And I mean it.
Because this woman in my arms, this brilliant, stubborn, beautiful woman, is worth everything. Worth the wait. Worth the risk.
Worth the fight.
TWENTY-FOUR
I waketo sunlight streaming through the guest house windows and the sound of Gabe’s steady breathing beside me. For a moment, I simply lie still, absorbing the reality of where I am—naked in his arms, my head pillowed on his chest, our legs tangled together beneath the sheets.
The storm has passed, leaving behind crystalline morning air and the kind of brilliant New Mexico sky that makes everything seem possible. Through the windows, I can see the valley Gareth mentioned, and there—grazing peacefully in the distance—are the wild horses, their coats gleaming in the early light.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Gabe’s voice is rough with sleep, his hand stroking gently through my hair.
I watch the horses for a moment, noting how they move together in easy harmony, one large stallion keeping close to a smaller mare. “They look like they belong together,” I murmur.
“They do,” Gabe says, following my gaze. “That’s how wild horses work—the stallion chooses his mare and stays devoted to her. They move together, graze together, protect each other. It’s not just instinct, it’s partnership.”
“Like us?” I ask, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
