Page 85 of Wraith

“Your turn,” I say.

I help him with his shirt, working the buttons one by one. When I push the fabric off his shoulders, I take a moment to look at him. The bandage on his side is still white and clean. The bruises on his chest and arms have yellowed at the edges. He’s marked by violence, but standing here with me, letting me undress him, he looks vulnerable in a way he never has before.

I unbuckle his belt. Unbutton his slacks. Push them down his hips along with his boxers until he steps out of them. We’re both mostly naked now, the amber light from the bedside lamp casting shadows across our skin.

He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra with practiced ease. It falls away and then there’s nothing between us except air and want and the weight of everything we’ve been through together.

“Come here,” he says, and guides me toward the bed.

We lie down facing each other, and for a long moment we just look. His hand traces idle patterns on my hip. My fingers explore the muscles of his shoulder, his arm, the scarred knuckles that have inflicted so much damage but are gentle now.

When he kisses me again, I roll onto my back and pull him with me.

His weight settles over me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. I can feel his cock hard against my wet pussy, and the anticipation makes me ache.

“I love you,” he says, and his gray eyes are steady on mine.

“I love you too.”

He positions himself at my entrance and pushes in slowly. So slowly. Inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside me and we’re both breathing hard. The stretch is perfect. The fullness is perfect. Everything about this moment is perfect.

He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, connected, looking down at me with an expression that makes my eyes sting.

Then he starts to move.

Long, slow strokes that hit deep and make my back arch. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel his breath on my lips with each thrust. When I tilt my hips to take him deeper, he groans, and the sound vibrates through my chest.

“June,” he breathes. “Oh, god, June.”

I close my eyes and let myself feel everything. The drag of his cock inside me. The weight of his body. The way his muscles flex under my hands. The building pressure low in my belly that spreads outward with each perfect thrust.

“Look at me,” he says.

I open my eyes and find him watching me. His pupils are blown wide but there’s something in his gaze beyond desire. Something that looks like devotion.

He lowers his mouth to mine, and we kiss while he moves inside me. Our tongues match the rhythm of his hips. Slow, deep, thorough. I’m climbing higher with every stroke, every kiss, every whispered word against my mouth.

When he slides a hand between us to find my clit, the added sensation makes me gasp. He circles it gently, perfectly, in time with his thrusts, and I can feel my orgasm building into something huge.

“Dylan,” I manage. “I’m going to come.”

“Come for me. Look into my eyes and come for me,” he says. “I want to feel you.”

The orgasm rolls through me in waves, starting deep and spreading outward until every nerve is singing. I clench around him and cry out against his mouth, and he swallows the sound with his kiss while fucking me through it.

Then he’s coming too, his rhythm breaking into something erratic before he buries himself deep and pulses inside me. I feel the warmth of his release, and it triggers another small aftershock that makes my toes curl.

We collapse together, breathing hard, still connected. His weight should be too much, but it’s not.

It’s grounding. It’s home.

After a moment he carefully withdraws and rolls to his side, immediately pulling me against him. I curl into his chest and listen to his heartbeat slow from a sprint to a steady march.

This is what contentment feels like.

This warmth in my chest. A sweet looseness in my limbs. A feeling like everything might actually be okay.

I could have this.