Page 49 of Don's Kitten
“Slow,” he tells me, voice rough. “I want to feel all of you.”
I nod, because I can’t speak yet. I start to move, slow at first, testing, adjusting. His head falls back, jaw tense, breath uneven. The reaction makes warmth spread through my entire body. He always gives everything away in the way he breathes.
“That’s it,” he says, gripping my hips to match my rhythm. “Just like that.”
I lean in and kiss him, and the kiss turns messy, needy. His hands roam under my shirt, up my back, around my waist. His thumbs stroke the curve of my stomach, lingering for a moment over the place our sons once lived, before sliding lower again.
The more I move, the deeper the heat builds, radiating from everywhere we touch. The blanket shifts. The sand softens under us. The air hums around us like it’s holding its breath.
He pulls me closer, chest to chest, our movements syncing on instinct alone. I wrap my arms around his neck and let myself fall into the rhythm of him—steady, strong, certain.
“Savannah,” he groans, voice low against my skin. “Look at me.”
I do.
And the moment our eyes meet, something sharp and warm and overwhelming rushes through me. My body tenses; I grip his shoulders, breath catching in my throat?—
He holds me through it, kissing the corner of my mouth, my jaw, my throat, quieting every sound except his name on my lips.
After, he pulls me against him, still holding me in his lap, still inside me, not ready to let go yet.
The waves crash softly. The sky goes deep orange. His hands stroke up and down my back in slow, reassuring lines.
“You’re everything,” he whispers into my hair.
I close my eyes and sink into him fully, completely, the love in my chest warm and steady.
The rest of the world fades. The waves, the sunset, the beach. All of it becomes background noise to the way he touches me, the way he says my name, the way he loves me like we have all the time in the world.
And we do.
Because he’s mine, and he’s not going anywhere.
