63. Jake
JAKE
Ilead her upstairs to my bedroom, like I have so many times in the past few days. But this time is different.
This time, I'm not taking.
I'm giving.
I close the door behind us and turn to face her. She's standing by the bed, her hands clasped, her eyes locked on mine.
"Come here," I say softly.
She crosses the room, and I pull her close, my hands sliding into her hair. I kiss her slowly, thoroughly, pouring everything I can't say into the contact. She responds with a soft sound, her body melting against mine.
I undress her carefully—unbuttoning her shirt, sliding it off her shoulders, unhooking her bra and letting it fall. She shivers when the cool air hits her skin, and I run my hands down her arms, warming her.
"You're beautiful," I murmur, my eyes tracing every inch of her. "So fucking beautiful."
She reaches for my shirt, and I let her pull it over my head. Her hands explore my chest, my shoulders, my arms—touching me like she's memorizing me.
I guide her to the bed and lay her down gently, following her down. She opens her legs to make room for me, and I settle between them, bracing myself on my forearms so I can look at her.
Her hair fans out across the pillow. Her eyes are wide and trusting. Her lips are parted, her breathing quick.
"I've got you," I say again, and she nods.
I kiss her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. I take my time, worshipping every inch of her skin, listening to the soft sounds she makes. When I finally take her nipple into my mouth, she arches off the bed with a gasp.
"Jake."
"I know, baby. I know."
I work my way down her body, kissing her stomach, her hips, the inside of her thighs. As I taste her, she cries out, her hands fisting in the sheets.
I take my time with her, bringing her to the edge and pulling her back, over and over, until she's trembling and begging.
"Please," she gasps. "Please, Jake, I need—"
"I know what you need." I move back up her body and settle between her legs, positioning myself at her entrance. She's so wet, so ready, and when I push inside, we both groan.
I don't move for a long moment. I just hold myself there, buried deep, looking down at her.
Her eyes are locked on mine.
"I love you," I say, the words rough and raw.
Her breath catches. "I love you too."
I start to move—slow, deep, deliberate. Not rough. Not claiming. Just loving her. Showing her with my body what I can't always say with words.
She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I groan at the sensation.
"Look at me," I murmur, and her eyes snap to mine. "Don't look away."
"I won't."
I keep my eyes locked on hers as I move inside her, watching every expression that crosses her face—pleasure, need, love. She's so open, so vulnerable, and it destroys me.
"You're mine," I say, my voice breaking. "You're mine, Emma, and I'm never letting you go."
"I'm yours," she gasps. "I'm yours, Jake. Always."
I feel her tighten around me, her body trembling, and I know she's close.
"Come for me, baby. Let me feel you."
She shatters with a cry, her body arching, her nails digging into my shoulders. I follow her over the edge, burying my face in her neck as I come, her name on my lips.
We collapse together, breathing hard, our bodies still joined.
I roll us to the side, keeping her close, and she curls into me with a soft sigh.
"I've got you," I murmur into her hair. "I've always got you."
She nods against my chest. "I know."
We lie there in the fading afternoon light, tangled together, and for the first time in days, I feel something close to peace.
But in the back of my mind, the calculation is already running.
I won’t let Cole Turner anywhere near my woman.