Page 92 of Yearn
I closed my eyes and smiled.
Oh God. . .he’s really in my bed and I don’t want him to leave.
I already knew that when Ro heard about this she would scream with joy, while Cadence would murmur fears.
Holy shit. What am I doing?
The house made its night noises.
Two rooms over, Oliver and J snored too.
Damn. Will this be my life now?
For the first time in years, the thought of not running didn’t make me feel trapped. The thought of letting myself fall into a man’s plan didn’t feel like an erasure.
For the first time, surrender didn’t feel like defeat.
In fact. . .it felt like the beginning of something I couldn’t survive without.
Okay. . .I’m going to try to make this work.
Chapter seventeen
My Family, My Hunger
Dominic
The next morning, we overslept.
Two alarms bleated and then gave up on us like exhausted nurses at shift change.
Morning light pressed through the curtains in slow bands, and I woke with Teyonah tucked into me, her hair damp against my jaw from the shower the night before, her back curved to my chest.
Fuck. I’m here. She’s here. This is really happening. Finally.
For three breaths I let myself think about rolling her beneath me, about letting the night finish what it had started in steam and vow. But I didn’t want our first time to be rushed, before the panic of toast burning and backpacks half-zipped.
I wanted to make love to her like a long surgery done right—intentional, skillfully, no shortcuts, no mistakes. So I squeezed my eyes shut and memorized the way her hair brushed my face, the soft weight of her hand over mine, the tiny sleeping sounds she made.
Fuck. The way she moaned when she came last night. . .I wanted to spray her face with cum. And her fully naked. . .how did I keep my cock in my pants?
I hoped she noted my ability for great restraint because I’d battled with myself to be a gentleman.
Last night, I knew I had to take my time with her.
Scott had done his best to break her—years of neglect, cruelty, cheating, emotional abuse, and making her doubt her own worth.
The man had left scars on her heart that I could clearly see. I caught that in the way she’d almost allowed shame to interrupt her pleasure too many times.
And last night wasn’t about me proving anything.
It wasn’t about conquering her body.
It was about stitching her back together with my mouth, my hands, my soothing patience.
That first night had to be hers.
I wanted her to know I could be the one place she didn’t have to shield up, the one man who wouldn’t flinch from the mess of her breaking open.
