Page 79 of Every Shattered Note
Not just the tip this time.
All of him.
Every inch.Every breath-stealing, soul-breaking inch.
And I take it.All of it.
“You okay?”he asks, voice hoarse, strained like it costs him to stay still.
I nod, my legs wrapping around his waist like instinct, pulling him closer, holding him there.“Please.”
But he doesn’t move—not yet.
Instead, he looks down at me, brushing my hair away from my face like I’m fragile and he doesn’t trust himself not to break me.“I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”
I blink up at him, throat tight.“Say it again.”
“I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”His voice cracks, the words landing low and raw.“It’s fucking terrifying.”
His hand presses to the center of my chest, feeling my heartbeat.As if looking for it’s rhythm.
“You’re not the only one scared,” I whisper, lifting a hand to cup the back of his neck, grounding both of us.
He’s still inside me—thick, long, filling me completely—and yet neither of us is moving, like this connection, this moment, is somehow more than just physical.Like it’s everything.
His forehead rests against mine, and when he speaks again, it’s softer.Real.
“I think about what it’d mean to have you,” he says, breath catching.“Really have you.Not just like this, but every morning.Every night.Sharing coffee.Fighting over the last tortilla during the weekends you let me bring you here.Picking a song together when we drive.Laughing.Making this ...more.”
I swallow hard.“You’d get tired of me.”
His jaw tenses, and for a beat he doesn’t answer.He just stays there—inside me, above me, surrounding me with heat and weight and something that feels dangerously like love.
“Never.”His voice hardens, then softens again, like just saying the word cracked something open inside him.“You’d be the first thing I’ve never tired of.”
He pulls back, slow and aching, until we’re barely connected—then thrusts back in, deeper than before, like he’s reentering something he lost and never thought he’d find again.
“Mine,” he breathes, the word guttural, reverent.
He moves again, a rhythm that’s more than hunger.It’s purpose.It’s possession.It’s him spelling it out with every push of his hips, every low moan against my skin.
“You’re mine,” he repeats, quieter now, like it’s not just a claim but a confession.“In every way.Soul first.Body after.I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll earn all of you.”
And everything else falls away.
The night.
The sound of the waves.
Even the air between us.
There’s only this—his body against mine, his mouth at my neck, his heart breaking wide open with every thrust like he’s trying to bury something sacred inside me and call it home.
Even the air.
All that’s left is him—inside me, around me, above me.
And me—finally letting go of every doubt.
