Page 106 of After All This Time

For one endless moment, everything freezes—the solid weight of him above me, the years of memories pressing between us. The undeniable knowledge that deep down, we shouldn't be doing this.

But it's already too late. That line was crossed the first time he touched me. And as I watch the struggle fade from his eyes, I know I'd risk it all for him. For this. For the way he looks at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted but never thought he could have.

He presses into me slowly, his forehead lowering to mine as we both exhale shaky breaths.

With one powerful thrust, he fills me completely. Two gasps fill the room—mine and his—as my walls stretch around him, gripping him so tightly that his forehead drops to my shoulder.

"Jesus fuck, you're strangling my cock," he rasps, slowly pulling back before slamming forward again, harder and deeper.

He rears up suddenly and wraps his hand around my ankle. Lifting my leg to his shoulder, he presses his lips to the delicate skin of my calf.

"I didn't think anything could feel better than your mouth," he grits out, never breaking our eye contact as he drives forward. "But being inside you… fuck, Mills."

My body arches into him, my hands sliding down his arms as he fucks me like I'm something sacred but also something he needs to break apart and put back together.

"Don't stop." I pant, my voice wrecked. "You feel so fucking good."

He drops his thumb to my clit, pressing hard as he bends and captures my mouth again, swallowing the strangled moan that escapes me.

"Right there. I'm so close." My nails dig crescents into his shoulders as he drives into me over and over.

I shatter around him, my body locking up as pleasure explodes through me. Then I feel him swell inside me, his thrusts turning erratic before he buries himself to the hilt, a guttural growl vibrating against my lips as he spills into me.

When his breathing finally matches mine, he props himself on his elbows, brushing damp strands of hair from my face with a tenderness that contradicts how he just ruined me.

"Well, it's safe to say we've just destroyed our friendship," I laugh, trying to ignore the anxiety clawing up my throat.

"You're making jokes while I'm still inside you?" He quirks an eyebrow, dropping kisses along my jaw.

"It's either that or admit how I'm feeling and awkwardly ask where you want me to sleep since it's almost midnight." His head snaps up, confusion clouding those beautiful eyes. "I'm not trying to assume anything, Tobias."

"You seriously think I'd fuck you and kick you out?"

"No, but you don't do sleepovers. At least not since I've been here, so…"

"First of all, I'm not that asshole. But what we just did, Mills? I've never felt anything like that before."

"Really?" I whisper.

"Yeah, really." He carefully pulls away from me and rolls onto his side. "Listen, you can stay here, or if you need space, I won't be offended. But I need to deal with this first, okay?" I nod, searching the floor for my underwear while he heads to the bathroom.

When he returns, naked and looking like some fucking god who just rewrote every standard I've ever had about sex, my mouth goes dry. He pulls on some boxer briefs, tucking himself away before stalking back to the bed. He leans down, hands cradling my face.

"Well? Am I sleeping alone?"

"I'm staying."

Chapter 43

Amelia

Tobias is still asleep beside me, all that dangerous energy from last night softened by the morning light spilling into the room. My eyes trace the rose inked on his chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath, and suddenly, I'm fifteen again, clutching a funeral program with shaking hands.

The day we buried my father was all bright sunlight and hollow voices. The whispered condolences scraped against my nerves like broken glass, and I remember the way my black dress stuck to my skin, how the church pews felt too hard, and how everything just felt wrong.

Tobias had stood beside me—this seventeen-year-old boy trying so hard to be my anchor when my entire world was collapsing.

He'd waited until everyone left before approaching the fresh grave, and I watched him from a distance through grief-blurred eyes, numb and empty, as he picked up one of the roses that had fallen from the flower spray. Even now, years later, I cansee his hands cradling that flower like it was something precious instead of a castoff from the worst day of my life.

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