Chapter Eight #2
He closes the distance between us, his lips finding mine in a kiss that feels nothing like the others, nothing like the desperate, consuming pull that defined everything before. This one is slower. Deeper. Something that settles instead of overwhelms.
He responds instantly, his grip tightening at my waist, his mouth moving against mine with a restraint that somehow makes it more intense. My fingers slide into his hair as I press closer, my body fitting against his like it always has.
He pulls back to look at me, his hand lifting to cup my face. His thumb brushes lightly against my cheek as his gaze searches mine, softer now, open in a way I’ve never seen before.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs.
I let out a small, shaky breath, my heart racing. “I think I’m starting to.”
Something in his expression shifts at that, something warm breaking through the edges of everything else. He kisses me again, slower, taking his time. He guides me back gently, his hands steady.
My pulse quickens as the edge of the bed meets the back of my knees, and I sink down, pulling him with me.
We sink into the mattress together, his weight settling over me, and it feels like coming home.
His mouth never leaves mine, the kiss deepening slowly, endlessly, like we have all the time in the world now.
“Lachlan,” I breathe against his lips, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, memorizing the feel of him.
“I love you,” he says against my mouth, raw and completely sincere. “I need you to know that. I need you to feel it.”
“I feel it,” I whisper, arching up to kiss him again, pouring every ounce of my own love into the contact. “I love you too.”
He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. His hands slide beneath my shirt, pushing it up and over my head with a reverence that makes my breath hitch. He looks at me like I'm something precious, something he's been waiting his whole life to touch.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his mouth finding my throat, his lips trailing down my collarbone to my breasts. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against a nipple before closing his mouth on it, trapping it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, sucking hard.
I moan and arch into him. Then, mindlessly, I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He helps me strip it off, then his hands are back on me, everywhere, mapping my body with a thoroughness that leaves me shaking.
When he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down my legs, I lift my hips to help him, watching his face as he bares me completely.
“You’re mine,” he says, the words a vow rather than a command this time. His palm settles between my thighs, two fingers sliding into me, soaked and aching, as his thumb works my clit. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I mewl, trembling with every pump and stroke of his fingers. “And you’re mine,” I declare, reaching for him, pulling him down to me, unable to hold back.
“Yours,” he agrees, his voice breaking as he guides himself to my entrance. “Only yours. Always.”
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling me with a gentleness that makes my eyes burn. The stretch is familiar now, but the emotion behind it isn’t. It’s overwhelming, filling my chest until I can barely breathe.
We move together, unhurried, our bodies finding a rhythm. His forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling, our gazes locked as he rocks into me with deep, deliberate strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside me.
“I’ve dreamed about this,” he confesses, his voice rough. “Having you like this. Knowing you’re mine, that you love me back.”
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m here,” I promise, my voice breaking. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He groans, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate, but still measured. His hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit and circling with perfect pressure. I gasp, my back arching off the bed.
“Come for me, kitten,” he whispers against my ear. “Let me feel you, Tatum. Let me feel how much you love me.”
“Please—” It comes out in pieces. “Please, Daddy—”
“I know.” His mouth is at my temple, and his voice has gone almost unbearably gentle. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
His words push me over the edge. I shatter, my orgasm rolling through me in warm waves, my inner muscles clenching around him as I cry out his name.
He keeps moving, chasing his own release, his hips surging forward with increasing urgency until he buries himself to the hilt and stills.
He groans long and low as he spills inside me.
But he doesn’t stop. He rolls us over, pulling me on top of him, \still joined, his hands settling on my hips.
“Again,” he breathes, his eyes dark and hungry. “I need to feel you come apart for me one more time.”
And then he lets his hands fall away to the sheets.
It takes me a second to understand what he’s doing. He isn’t guiding me. He isn’t setting the pace or telling me when or holding me where he wants me. He’s lying underneath me with his hands open on either side of him, watching my face, waiting to see what I do.
In four weeks, he has never once given me this.
I ride him slowly, my hands braced on his chest, watching as pleasure moves across his face. His hands stay where they are. Soon, I’m climbing again, the pressure building with every roll of my hips.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb finding my clit again, rubbing tight circles that make me sob his name. It’s the only place he touches me. “Come with me this time, kitten. Together.”
We go over together, our bodies trembling in sync. I collapse onto his chest, our hearts hammering against each other, our breathing ragged.
His hand moves slowly along my back, absent, soothing, like he’s confirming I’m still here. That I didn’t leave. That I won’t.
“You’re not getting rid of me,” I murmur softly, the words slipping out as I snuggle deeper into his embrace.
A quiet huff of something that almost sounds like a laugh leaves him, his hand tightening around me. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
I tilt my head to look up at him, a small smile pulling at my lips. “Good.”
His gaze drops to mine, steady and certain in a way it never used to be.
“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair.
I smile against his skin.