26. Nash #3
I push forward slowly, watching her expression change as I fill her. Her mouth falls open on a silent gasp, her fingers digging into my shoulders as her body adjusts to take me. She feels like heaven—tight and wet and absolutely perfect around me.
"Fuck," I groan once I'm fully seated inside her. "You feel so good, sweetheart. Like you were made for me."
I hold still for a moment, letting her adjust, memorizing the sight of her beneath me. Eve, boneless and panting, her curls spread across my pillow like she belongs here. Like she's always belonged here.
"Move," she breathes, rolling her hips against mine. "Please, Nash. I need?—"
I pull back slowly, then slide home again, setting a deep, steady rhythm that makes her gasp with every thrust. This isn't the desperate fucking of teenagers—this is something deeper, more profound. Every movement is deliberate, designed to show her exactly how much she means to me.
"Is this what you needed?" I ask, angling my hips to hit that spot that makes her cry out. "Is this how you want me to treat you?"
"Yes," she sobs, her legs wrapping around my waist to pull me deeper. "God, yes. Don't stop."
I lean down to capture her mouth in a kiss that's all heat and desperation, swallowing her moans as I drive into her.
She tastes like everything I've ever wanted, everything I convinced myself I couldn't have.
The way she responds to me, the way her body welcomes mine—it's better than any fantasy I've tortured myself with over the years.
"You're mine," I growl against her throat, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. "Say it, Eve. Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours," she gasps, her nails raking down my back. "I've always been yours, even when you wouldn't have me."
The admission makes something fierce and possessive surge through me. I increase my pace, driving into her with a desperation that borders on violence. But she takes everything I give her, meets me thrust for thrust with a passion that sets my blood on fire.
"I won't let anyone hurt you again," I promise, one hand tangling in her curls while the other grips her hip hard enough to bruise. "No one touches what's mine."
She comes apart beneath me with a cry that's half prayer, half curse, her body clenching around me like a vice. The sensation is almost too much—the way she pulses around my cock, the broken way she sobs my name as waves of pleasure crash through her.
I follow her over the edge with a groan that tears from somewhere deep in my chest, pulling out just in time to paint her dark skin with my release.
The sight of my cum marking her stomach, her thighs, makes something primitive and possessive roar through me.
Mine. She's mine, marked by me, claimed in the most fundamental way possible.
For a moment we're both still, breathing hard, her fingers still threaded through my hair. She looks wrecked in the best possible way—skin dotted with sweat, eyes glazed with satisfaction, lips swollen from my kisses. Beautiful. She's absolutely beautiful.
"Don't move," I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before rolling out of bed.
I grab a washcloth from the bathroom, running it under warm water before returning to clean her up. She watches me with soft eyes as I gently wipe her skin clean, taking care with the sensitive skin between her thighs.
"You don't have to—" she starts, but I silence her with a look.
"Let me take care of you," I say firmly. "It's what I should have been doing all along."
When she's clean, I toss the cloth aside and gather her against my chest, pulling the covers over both of us.
She fits perfectly in my arms, her head tucked under my chin, one hand resting over my heart.
This is what I wanted the first time—to hold her through the night, to wake up with her warm and pliant against me.
"Nash," she whispers into the darkness, her voice already heavy with sleep.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"I forgive you." The words are barely audible, muffled against my chest, but they hit me like a physical blow. "For all of it. I forgive you."
Something breaks open inside my chest—relief so profound it's almost painful.
For years I've carried the weight of my mistakes, convinced I'd destroyed any chance of happiness with the only woman I've ever loved.
But here she is, offering me absolution I don't deserve, forgiveness I've never dared hope for.
She burrows deeper into my embrace, her breathing evening out as sleep claims her. I tighten my arms around her, feeling whole for the first time in years. Complete. Like all the broken pieces of myself have finally clicked back into place.
This is what I've been missing—not just the sex, though that was incredible—but this perfect contentment. The knowledge that she's safe in my arms, that she chose me despite everything, that she's forgiven the unforgivable.
I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the musk of our lovemaking. She's here. She's mine. And I'm never letting her go again.