Page 136 of The Trust We Broke
The sheets are cool. The overhead light is off, but warmth glows from the small lamp Lucy turned on when she walked in.
She lies back on the pillow, and I follow, rolling onto my side to face her.
“Make love to me,” she whispers.
I start with her mouth. Slow kisses. Long, delicious, open-mouthed kisses. The kind that breathe life into the empty places in a man’s soul.
Her hand finds the side of my neck, her thumb brushing over the bristles on my jaw, as I kiss her like I’ll never get the chance to tell her I love her ever again. I trail my lips down to her collarbone, then her breast, pausing the worship of her nipple when she sighs.
I take my time.
My fingers explore her. I kiss the freckle on her rib cage, the curve of her stomach, the sharp ridge of her hip bone.
Her breath shudders, one hand thrust into my hair.
I reach over to the side table next to the bed. In it are the supplies I brought over earlier. I quickly put on a condom andapply some lube, because we won’t get our test results back for another two days.
When her legs part, I slide between them and hold there. Just resting my weight over her, our heads touching.
“I love you,” I whisper. “Every version of you there’s been. Every version there’s going to be.”
I kiss her again. Letting the feel of her lips against mine be her answer.
I slide into her, and it’s not rushed.
It’s not rough.
It’s not dominating.
But it’s right.
She arches beneath me, legs winding around my waist. Her hands roam my back, my shoulders, my face, like she’s memorizing my body.
I move inside her with a rhythm that’s more about feeling than friction.
“Zach,” she gasps.
“I’ve got you, sweet girl.”
“You always did,” she breathes.
“Gonna make up for all the years I should have been loving you.”
The slow waves of pleasure start to curl higher. She tightens around me, her hips seeking, and I know she’s close.
I sit deep inside her, rolling my hips, a steady grind, my thumb brushing her cheek as she begins to shake.
There’s a beauty in this. One that’s so fucking rare in my world, I’m almost scared of it. It tilts me. The urge to come hammering down my spine. But I don’t want to ruin this almost-sacred moment.
“Please,” Lucy says.
“I’m so fucking close, Bug. Come with me.”
Her mouth opens on a silent cry, her body clutching around mine as she falls. I follow seconds later, burying my face in the pillow as I groan, so I don’t disturb Wren and Catfish in their rooms down the hall.
There’s an intensity to it that I can’t place. It’s not wild and high. It’s low in my groin. An aching pulse in desperate need of relief.
I gasp again, sucking in air, as it continues.
