Page 75 of Unbroken
I traced the pale lines with my fingertips, remembering how they'd looked fresh and angry those first months. Now they were just part of him, part of the story of how we'd found each other.
“Still thinking about the surgery?” he asked, voice soft.
“Just grateful it worked.” I leaned down to kiss the scars, then his collarbone, his jaw. “Grateful you're here.”
“Nowhere else I'd rather be.” His hands slid into my hair, pulling me down for a deeper kiss.
We moved together with the easy familiarity of six months of practice, learning each other's rhythms and preferences. I worked him open slow, careful, watching his face as pleasure built.
“Ready?” I asked when he was relaxed and wanting.
“God, yes.” He pulled me down. “Need you.”
When I pressed inside him, we both groaned at the sensation of perfect friction, perfect fullness, perfect connection after too long apart.
The sex was slow, deliberate, making up for lost time. I set a rhythm that built, each thrust deliberate and deep. His eyes held mine, dark and intense, watching every reaction cross my face.
“Love you,” I said, voice rough. “Love you so fucking much.”
“Love you too.” His hands gripped my shoulders as I found the angle that made him gasp. “Right there—don't stop.”
I didn't. Kept the rhythm, kept the angle, kept watching him fall apart beneath me. When he came, it was with my name on his lips, body arching up to meet mine. The sight and sound of it pulled me after, orgasm rolling through me as I buried myself deep.
We stayed like that for long moments, just breathing, coming back to ourselves. When I pulled out, I rolled him against my side, both of us sticky and satisfied and content.
“Better than phone sex,” he murmured against my chest.
I laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Definitely.”
The afternoon light shifted toward evening as we lay there, wrapped up in each other, the apartment quiet except for our breathing and the distant sound of someone walking past on the street below.
“This place is smaller than your old living room,” I said, looking around at the cramped bedroom. “In the Denver penthouse.”
He was quiet for a moment, and when I glanced down at him, his expression was soft, open in the way it only got when we were alone.
“You know what I see when I look around this place?” he asked.
“Exposed brick that needs repointing? That water stain on the ceiling we keep meaning to fix?”
“I see home.” His hand found mine, interlacing our fingers. “I see the studio space where you create. The kitchen where we cook together. The bed where I get to wake up next to you every morning.”
He shifted to look at me, those dark eyes holding mine. “Everything I ever wanted is in this room, Dusty. The penthouse was just a place to sleep between games. This is where I live.”
My throat tightened. “You mean that.”
“Every word.” He kissed me, slow and sweet, and I could taste the truth in it. “Best decision I ever made was walking away from what everyone expected and building something real instead.”
I settled back against his chest, fitting there like I belonged. “Love you,” I murmured.
“Love you too.” He pressed a kiss to my hair, arms wrapping around me. “Always.”
We lay there as the room darkened, neither of us willing to move, content to just exist together in our small, perfect space.
Everything I ever wanted, I thought as my breathing evened out. Right here in this room.
