Chapter 55 So Much for Taking It Slow
KADE
Her mouth crashes against mine, all heat and fury and need, and I answer her with the same desperation I’ve buried for eight goddamn years.
My good hand cups her jaw while the broken one rests against her hip.
The torn fabric catches the silk of her dress, but I don’t care.
I’d punch a thousand walls if it meant getting this moment.
I ease her down, one hand sliding behind her neck to guide her gently to the ground. The stone is rough beneath her, but she doesn’t flinch. Her legs part for me instinctively as I settle between them, her dress bunched around her hips, her breath coming fast and sharp.
I don’t rush.
Not this time.
I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lower, tongue dragging along the line of her throat where her pulse is thrumming wildly.
“You’re still so goddamn beautiful,” I whisper against her skin.
Her hands fist in my shirt. “Shut up and fuck me.”
I smile, but it’s not soft.
“I plan to.”
I kneel back just enough to shove her dress higher, exposing the thin lace of her panties—pink, already soaked through. I drag two fingers over the damp fabric.
She jerks.
I do it again, watching the way her lips part, the way her lashes flutter.
Then I hook a finger into the side of her panties and rip.
The sound is loud in the quiet dusk. The fabric tears clean through, and her hips arch up as if she needs more than air between us.
I dip my head, kiss the inside of her thigh, then again, higher now. I inhale like a man starved, letting her scent punch through me.
And then I taste her.
The first slow drag of my tongue from her entrance to her clit makes her shiver. Her legs twitch, trying to close around my head, but I hook my arms under her thighs and hold her open.
“Don’t move,” I murmur against her. “Let me have this.”
Then I devour her.
I lap at her with long, unhurried strokes, each one designed to unravel her.
My nose presses into her as my tongue circles her clit, teasing, testing, waiting for the exact moment she starts to fall apart.
When she starts to pant, I switch it up, flicking faster now, then slower again, letting her ride the edge without falling.
Her hands grab at my hair, tugging, grounding herself.
“Kade… fuck…”
I hum against her, and the vibration makes her cry out. I slide one finger inside her, then two, pumping slow, curling just right, learning her all over again.
She tries to flip us, panting, her thighs tightening.
I chuckle against her pussy. “Clearly you’ve been practicing those grappling moves I taught you.”
She gasps, frustrated. “I’m still mad at you.”
“Good,” I murmur, my tongue stroking relentlessly. “Be mad. Hate me. Rage. I’ll take it. I’ll take anything you give me as long as it’s from you. Because if you’re angry, you’re still thinking about me. And that means you still belong to me.”
“You’re such a bastard,” she hisses, even as her hips grind into my mouth.
I let go of one thigh just long enough to reach up and undo the tie of her wrap dress. The fabric falls open. Beneath, her bra is a simple clasp—easy. I flick it open and slide the straps down her arms, baring her completely.
She’s spread out beneath me now, chest heaving, nipples tight, slick and desperate and undone.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
Laid out on the cliffside in nothing but the remnants of a dress, her skin flushed, her lips kiss-swollen, her thighs trembling.
Mine.
I duck my head and lick her again, slow, flat, deep. She shudders.
But I don’t let her come.
I pull away right as she gets close, and she lets out a sound of frustration, glaring at me with murder in her eyes.
“What the fuck—”
“You’re not coming,” I say low, almost cruel, “on anything but my cock right now.”
She’s breathing hard. Furious. Glorious.
And then she’s sitting up, grabbing at my jeans, voice ragged. “I’m calling your bluff. You don’t still have it.”
I raise a brow. “Oh, I do.”
I strip.
Shirt first, over my head. Then the jeans, rough denim shoved down with purpose. And when I pull down my briefs, I watch her face the second she sees it.
Her name. “Amanda’s.”
Tattooed along the length of my cock.
Her mouth parts. “You… you actually kept it.”
I step closer, fingers brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “You kept the gun I gave you. Seems like we both held on to things.”
She laughs, breathless and bitter. “We are so fucked-up.”
“Yeah,” I rasp, voice thick. “We are.”
And then she’s on her knees.
She reaches for me and wraps one hand around the base of my cock.
Then her mouth opens, and I swear I feel my soul leave my fucking body.
She licks the tip. Just once. Teasing. Then she takes me into her mouth inch by inch, her eyes locked on mine, her lips stretching wide as her name disappears between them.
I groan, one hand flying to her hair, the other braced against the ledge behind me. She sucks me like she owns me. Like she remembers every twitch, every vein, every reaction. Her tongue swirls. Her throat works. Her nails dig into my thighs as she takes me deeper.
I’m close.
Too close.
“Stop,” I grit, tugging her gently off me before I lose control. “Amanda, stop.”
She pulls back, eyes dark, lips wet. “Make me.”
I drag her to her feet and lift her like she weighs nothing. I carry her to the edge of the overlook and sit down on the stone ledge with the whole damn world spread out behind us. She straddles me, arms tight around my shoulders, her bare chest pressed to mine, legs locking around my waist.
“That’s it, baby doll,” I whisper, voice raw and reverent. “Hold on tight to me. Don’t look down.”
And then I slide inside her.
Her gasp is sharp, and her arms lock around my shoulders like she might fall without me. But she’s not falling. She’s flying.
And I swear I stop breathing.
Fuck.
She’s tight. Hot. Slick. And perfect.
Too perfect. Like no time has passed at all. Like her body remembers mine just as much as mine remember hers. My vision goes black around the edges as her name disappears inch by inch and I sink all the way in, swallowed up by the place I’ve dreamed of coming home to for eight fucking years.
I’ve imagined it. Every night. Her taking me like this. Her name vanishing inside the only woman who’s ever made it mean something.
It’s not just ink, it’s a brand. And now it’s right where it belongs. Buried inside her, where it was always meant to be. My hands grip her hips, trying to keep myself in check, trying not to lose it right here, right now, because this is her.
My Amanda.
Eight years of wanting.
Eight years of wondering if I’d ever feel this again.
She buries her face in my neck, breathing hard, her thighs trembling around my waist. I can feel every flutter of her, every stutter in her pulse, every second she tries to adjust to the stretch of me.
I don’t move.
Not yet.
I let her feel me. Let her body remember exactly what it’s been missing. What I never should have left. What has haunted me every night since.
“Jesus,” I breathe into her skin. “You feel so fucking good. Just like I remember. No. Better.”
Her nails dig into my back. “Don’t talk.”
But I can’t help it.
“You missed this.” I drag my mouth along her jaw. “I know you did.”
She doesn’t answer, but her hips shift, and that’s all the permission I need.
I start to move. She cries out, high and broken, and I do it again, rolling my hips up into her and grinding until her whole body shakes.
It’s not just sex. It’s penance. Every thrust is a confession. Every drag of her nails down my spine is absolution. Because I left her. I chose fear over trust, silence over honesty, distance over love, and this is the only language I have left to tell her I was wrong.
And every reaction of hers, every gasp, every moan, every tremble, is forgiveness I haven’t earned but take anyway, because I don’t know how to live without her.
I slide one hand up her back, the other cradling her head as she moves with me, her breath coming in short, choked gasps. Her body clings to mine like she’s afraid I’ll vanish again. Like she’s afraid she’ll vanish if she lets go.
But I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. Not ever.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
She lifts her head, eyes glassy, lips parted.
“I need to see you when I’m inside you.”
Her walls clench around me at the words, and I groan. Fuck, it’s too much, and not enough, and everything I’ve ever wanted. She rocks against me, finding the rhythm, her thighs locked around my waist, her chest pressed to mine, her moans turning to whimpers.
Her name falls from my lips. “Amanda…”
I press my forehead to hers, panting.
“Say your name,” I whisper.
She blinks, dazed. “You just did.”
“No,” I rasp, voice low, possessive, shaking with it. “Not what I call you. Say your name. The real one. The one you buried.”
Her breath catches.
“Amanda.”
“Say it right.”
She swallows hard, her hands trembling where they grip my jaw.
“Amanda Steele.”
I groan, the sound broken in my throat. “That’s right.”
I drive into her, deep and rough and perfect.
“Because you’re what?”
She chokes on a moan.
“Say it,” I growl, thrusting again. “Tell me what you are.”
“I’m…” She falters, eyes glassy. “I’m your wife.”
“That’s right.” My voice is guttural. “My fucking wife. You’re my fucking wife.”
And then she starts to fall apart. I feel it in the way she trembles. The way her breath catches. The way her hands fist into my hair like she’s anchoring herself to this moment, to me.
“That’s it, baby doll,” I whisper, kissing her through it. “Come on me. Just like that. Let go.”
She does.
With a scream that echoes off the trees and a body that convulses around mine, dragging me over the edge right behind her. I empty into her with a groan so deep it barely sounds human, holding her close, burying my face in her shoulder as the world narrows to the two of us and nothing else.
No time. No distance. No pain.
Just Amanda.
Just us.
Finally.