Page 83 of Fixing to Be Mine

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh, even as I’m still trying to catch my breath.

“You made me come,” I pant, but I’m already pulling him up to kiss me, tasting myself on his lips. “Only I’ve ever been able to do that.”

“Mmm. Something we share.”

By the look in his deep blue eyes, I know this is only the beginning. He’s not done with me yet. Not even close.

“I need more of you.”

“I’m not prepared,” he says, his breath brushing across my cheek. “I didn’t bring a condom. I wasn’t planning to go there.”

“That’s cute. But we did.” I study him. “And I’m on birth control.”

His eyes search mine, like he’s making sure he understands. His hand moves to the nape of my neck, fingers slipping into my hair.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low and hoarse.

“I seriously love that you’re so damn polite, but please fuck me.” I breathe harder now.

The stars above us are sharper and brighter, no longer floating in the background. They’re witnesses as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans. I prop myself up on my elbows, breasts still rising and falling, watching as he reveals himself to me. My mouth falls open when I catch a glimpse of his large cock.

“Okay, now I’m scared.”

Laughter roars out of him as he moves closer to me. “We’ll go slow.”

When his body settles against mine, there’s a long pause. He doesn’t rush but waits. As I watch him, seeing how careful he is with me, I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.

I stop overthinking. I stop trying to predict what this might mean tomorrow. I stop bracing myself for loss before it ever touches me. I let the feeling in my chest stretch into trust that whatever this is will work out between us.

He’s backlit by the fire, eyes deep blue and steady, shirt hanging open, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. When he enters me, it’s slow and careful. I widen my thighs, adjusting to his length, and appreciate how he’s so damn patient.

My breath catches, and his forehead presses to mine again, like he’s right there with me, every inch of the way. Eventually, there’s no space between us. No room for fear. Only him. Only this. Only us.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes, it feels like you’re ripping me in half,” I whisper breathlessly. “It’s good.”

“You’ll know exactly where I was tomorrow,” he says.

His strong hands grip my hips. Carefully, he guides himself slowly out and then back in again.

“So fucking tight,” he mutters as I wrap my legs around his waist.

Our bodies fall into a rhythm. Every time he thrusts deeper, I meet him there. Every kiss, every sigh, every moan—I give freely. I take too.

The shift pulls us closer—skin to skin, breath to breath—and everything else around us disappears. There’s only the slow press of his body into mine, the ache of being filled too tight, and the relief of it too. Our rhythm builds with certainty, like we’re following something older than time. Older than restraint.Something that’s bigger than either of us could have ever imagined.

I drag my hands down his back, nails leaving reckless little scratches over muscle, and he responds by angling deeper. My toes go numb.

He leans in, mouth at my ear, his breath hot. “I don’t remember what life was like before you.” He rasps out his wild confession.

I don’t even remember what it felt like to want anything but him.

There’s no room left for our little differences, only for need and how my whole body’s singing, begging for more. Every cell is tuned to the same frequency as his, and I’m already addicted.

Every time he thrusts deeper, it pulls a sound from me I’ve never heard myself make. It’s an overwhelming release of finally beingwantedin a way that doesn’t ask me to be anyone else. He holds me through it, his breath catching in his throat each time I move to meet him. It’s instinct now. Muscle memory. A conversation written in touch and exhale.

“I’ve got the Valentine curse, don’t I?”

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