Tristan
I look down at my wife for a moment, my cock already hardening again just from the sight of her spread out on the bed, her dress still half on and her hair loose around her face.
I just came harder than I have in a long time, and it doesn’t matter at all.
I want her again immediately. I think I’ll always want her, even if I were at death’s door. Hell, even if I were already dead.
She’s here.
She’s real.
She came back to me, and I’m done wasting time.
I strip off what’s left of my clothes and crawl onto the bed over her, and she falls back against the pillows as I hover above her. When our lips meet, I lose myself in the kiss, drowning in it as I explore her taste.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth, her hands coming up to grip the front of my shirt before she remembers I’ve already taken it off, and her fingers spread across my chest instead, pressing into the muscles there.
Then I start undressing her, unhooking, unzipping, and sliding things off, and she helps me, lifting her arms and shifting her hips. When I get her dress over her head and drop it off the side of the bed, something catches the light from the lamp on the nightstand.
There’s a chain around her neck, and looped through the end of it is her wedding ring.
I freeze.
The ring rests against the skin of her chest, rising and falling with her breath. She notices me staring and reaches up to wrap her fingers around it.
“I couldn’t wear it,” she says quietly. “But I couldn’t leave it behind either. I had to keep it with me.”
I don’t have a response to that for a second. She had every reason to put that ring in a drawer and leave it there. Instead, she kept it on a chain near her heart for all that time we were apart. The knowledge hits me square in the chest, and it takes me a moment to find my voice.
“Fuck, dimples,” I breathe. “You’re killing me.”
I lean down and kiss her, my hands moving to either side of her face.
Then I press my lips to her jaw, her neck, the curve of her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair.
It smells sweet and familiar, and I stay there longer than necessary just because I’m not taking a single second of tonight for granted.
She shifts beneath me after a while, her hips tilting up, an impatient sound escaping her that makes me smile.
“Tristan…” she whimpers.
I pull back and look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are swollen, and she’s looking at me with an expression that makes it very hard to think straight. I grip her legs behind the knees and hold them apart, positioning myself at her entrance without pushing in yet, and her breath hitches.
“Watch,” I command. “Look down, dimples. I want you to see.”
She lifts her head, and I look down too, both of us staring at the connection point between us as I start to press inside.
The sight of it, her body opening for me and taking me in, pulls a groan out of me that I don’t try to muffle.
I push forward slowly, inch by inch, and she makes a sound that starts soft and gets louder as I go deeper, her hands gripping the sheets on either side of her.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my jaw tight. “Look at that. You see how perfectly we fit together?” I push in deeper. She clenches hard around me and drops her head back with a gasp. “Eyes on me,” I whisper. “I want to see your face.”
She brings her gaze back to mine, dark and a little glassy, as I start to move.
Slow and deep, my hands gripping her hips to keep her exactly where I want her, rolling into her with long strokes that I feel everywhere.
She makes a soft sound with every one, her fingers curling and uncurling in the sheets, her back arching slightly to meet me.
I watch her face the whole time, how her expression shifts and opens with each thrust, the flush that spreads farther down her throat with every passing minute.
“I’ve missed this so much,” I groan. “Every fucking thing about you. Every single day that you were gone, I missed you.”
She whimpers at that, her hips rising to meet mine, and I drive deeper on the next stroke and watch her face.
I lean down and press my mouth to her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder, tasting her skin while I keep moving inside her.
Her hands come to my back, her fingers pressing in hard, not scratching, just holding on with both hands like she’s not entirely sure this is real yet.
I know the feeling.
“You feel so good,” I say against her throat. “So perfect. Every single time.” I roll my hips on the next stroke, finding a slightly different angle, and feel her body respond to it immediately. “I don’t think that’s ever going to stop.”
She makes a sound that might be agreement and might just be a response to what I’m doing.
When I draw back, her head is tipped up, her lips parted, her hair spread out across the pillow.
She’s gorgeous. She’s always been gorgeous, but right now, with her ring on a chain against her chest and her eyes finding mine in the dim light of the room, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
How the fuck did I almost lose this woman? How was I lucky enough to get her back?
I push her legs back farther and shift the angle slightly, going deeper, and feel her tighten around me. Her whole body reacts to it, a sharp inhale making her breasts bounce as her spine arches off the mattress.
“Tristan!” she gasps.
“I know,” I grit out, repeating the motion.
I’m closer than I want to be. The combination of the car and now this and all those days of missing her has my self-control running on empty, but I’m not coming before she does.
I focus entirely on her, on the sounds she’s making and how she moves and what she responds to, adjusting my pace and angle until I find the rhythm that makes her breathing go ragged and her hips start moving more urgently to meet mine.
Her hand comes up to my face, her palm soft against my jaw as the sweetest little sounds pour from her lips.
“Don’t stop,” she begs. “Please, oh god. Don’t—don’t stop.”
I do what she asks, keeping up a steady pace as the bed rocks slightly beneath us. Her legs tighten around me, pulling me closer.
“I love you.”
The words fall from my lips before I’ve decided to say them, but they’re the truth.
They’re so fucking true. Bracing one hand on the bed, I sign it with the other—I love you—the movements slow and clear so she can read every one, because I want her to have it both ways.
I want her to be able to see it or hear it or feel it, and to know it’s real no matter what.
She goes still beneath me, her mouth falling open slightly. Her eyes turn glassy, and a tear slides down the side of her face into her hair, but she doesn’t move to wipe it away.
“I love you too,” she whispers, her voice cracking on the last word.
I drop my head and kiss her, deep and thorough.
She kisses me back with both hands in my hair, her body pressing up into mine.
I keep moving inside her through the kiss, and I can feel the moment when she starts to come.
Her pussy tightens around me, and I swallow her needy cries as I keep driving into her, working her through every wave of it until she’s gasping and clinging to me with both arms.
Then I follow her over, thrusting deep and holding there, my face against her neck, her name leaving my mouth. I come hard, emptying into her, and I stay buried inside her until I’ve got nothing left to give.
We lie tangled together afterward, neither of us moving or inclined to. Her fingers move slowly through my hair. My face stays against her neck, her pulse beating under my lips as both of us just breathe.
I don’t want to move. I’m fairly certain I could stay right here for the rest of my life and not have a single complaint about it.