Page 51 of The Probability of Us

This is?—

“What a way to wake up,” Warren says, and I look over to find him leaning against the hallway entrance wearing only his boxers.

His eyes didn’t get the memo that it’s morning. They skipped sunrise and have gone straight for mid-day heat as they take in the scene. Me, in nothing but his work shirt, sitting at the counter engrossed in my computer as the smell of fresh espresso—that I completely forgot about—wafts around the room.

“This is going to work, Warren,” I say, body humming with the feeling of accomplishment.

“Of course, it is.” He smirks at me, and my body starts humming with a different feeling that only he brings out of me.

“I’m talking about work.”

“So was I,” he says, but that look only intensifies. “I knew it was going to work on Friday when you first told me you had an idea. You underestimate yourself, Analise. You’re brilliant. In my entire professional career, I’ve never met someone who thinks the way you do—it’s rare and beautiful.”

He slowly makes his way over to me and reaches out to the buttons on the shirt, undoing the first one with slow precision. “I love your brain.” He unbuttons another. “Almost as much as I love the sight of you in nothing but my work shirt.”

When the last button is undone, he looks down at my bare body. His hands lift to my collarbone and slowly run down my body, gently moving the shirt out of the way so he has a clear view, but obviously not wanting me to take it completely off. His hands stop on my thighs, his thumbs rubbing intoxicating circles so close to where I want him but not moving closer just yet.

“Beautiful,” he whispers and his body shudders from his ragged breathing. “So fucking beautiful.”

From there, everything happens at once. The words are barely out of his mouth when his right hand moves up and dips between my legs. The groan that rips itself from my chest is swallowed up by his mouth crashing into mine. The wetness he finds there is more than he expects because he curses, “Fuck.”

After that, I don’t know if it’s me or him who frees him from his boxers, but then his fingers slide out and he’s there, pressing against me. He takes his time, slowly entering me one glorious inch at a time. My legs slowly get spread further and further until we’re chest to chest and I’m shaking with need for him to move inside me.

He pulls back to look into my eyes and what I see staring back at me is a side of him I’ve never seen before. It’s wild, but raw and vulnerable at the same time. His hands close tightly around my hips and he doesn’t break eye contact as his hips roll away from me and then thrust back in.

My head drops back as I cry out in pleasure, my hands frantically reaching behind me for anything to steady myself. He keeps thrusting at a steady, relentless pace and I can barely keep my eyes open, but when I get a quick glance, I see him greedily taking in the look of my face twisted in pleasure. The look of my body in nothing but his shirt that’s now hanging from my elbows, shaking from the pure ecstasy of him.

Most times we move as a unit, both chasing each other’s release, but right now, this is all about me. It feels like he’s trying to show me that no one will ever satisfy me the way he does, as if I didn’t know that already. It feels like he’s branding me with his possessive grip of my hips and his eyes scorching patterns across my body. With every thrust into me, I feel the wordminereverberating through me.Mine. Mine. Mine.I feel his claim of my body, of my pleasure, of me.

“Analise,” he whispers, and I come undone.

I unravel with his name on my lips, and as I stitch myself back together, he gets woven into every thread. Any part of me that wasn’t already his has been remade in his name. He is so much a part of me it hurts—and it’s the most glorious, beautiful pain I’ve ever felt.

Tears stream down my face when I finally find my way back to the room. I am not the same as I was moments before, and I will never be the same again.

When his eyes open again, he’s back to the Warren I’m used to, but I think I see a change in him too. His raw edges that he usually keeps tucked away are visible to someone who knows him better than they know themself. Those raw edges are the depths of his love, the truth of his love. That’s what scared him so much before, yet here he is, laying them bare in front of me whether he intended to or not.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, reaching for my face and wiping my tears. Panic floods his eyes as he asks, “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I just . . .” I take a deep breath. “I hope you know how much I love you. I hope you know I’m yours . . . completely, unequivocally. I’ll only ever be yours.”

Warren’s lips start to tremble and a tear drops down his face, rendering me completely speechless. I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve seen Warren cry, and none of them were as real as this is right now. These tears are ones that rip themselves out of you whether you’re ready or not. These are tears that show you truths about yourself you’re not ready to acknowledge.

“Warren,” I breathe, and stand up to pull him into a hug when a heartbreaking sob leaves his lips.

His arms wrap around me, slowly at first, then sure and strong as they pull me in tighter and he buries his head into my neck. I hold on tight as his tears hit my shoulder and roll down my chest.

“I thought I’d lost you for good,” he whispers between tears. “I fucked things up so completely, I was convinced you could never forgive me. I’ve hated myself every day for what I did to you. I don’t deserve something this perfect. I don’t deserve love this pure. How can I sit here and think of you as mine when you deserve more than to be sitting here in my shirt with my hands on your body? What if I fuck this up again?”

“I won’t let you fuck it up again,” I say, and he huffs out a laugh. I pull back to look him in the eyes and smile through my tears. “I’m serious. Do you remember why our team name wasThe Summers?”

His face twists in confusion. “Because we always joked that if we got married I’d take your last name.”

I nod. “Do you remember why?”

“Because I’m golden like sunshine?”

I laugh. “Technically, yes, I did say that that night. But the night we first kissed I told you that you were my sun and?—”

---