Page 96 of Desperate People

I’ve seen pictures of her, dreamed of her more times than I’ll ever admit, and even had her in my bed not even a week ago—but nothing prepared me for this moment. For the goddamn profundity of touching her with intent knowing she’s mine.

Lucy turns her head, and her expression? It wrecks me.

Raw. Vulnerable. Mine.

Desire coils hot and fast in my gut.

My cock is already hard, painfully so, but it’s more than physical now.

This isn’t just want—it’s necessity.

The kind that cuts deep.

The kind that marks you forever.

My cock starts dripping precum inside my boxers.

I growl, in a hurry now to get her naked for me.

Not just nude.

I want her bare right down to her soul.

I want every sigh, every truth, every shadow she’s afraid to show the world.

I’ll take it all.

Because she’s not just my wife.

She’s my purpose. My salvation.

I drop to my knees, the world narrowing to just her—my hands, her body, the electric space between us.

I slide my hands down her curves, taking my time, memorizing every inch as I push the fabric all the way to her bare feet.

“Step out,” I murmur, voice rough.

She obeys without a word, and something in my chest twists hard.

Then she turns.

And if jaws really could hit the ground, mine would be buried six feet deep.

She is radiant.

Divine.

Every part of her bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the windows behind her.

The tide crashes against the sand just beyond the villa, the ocean whispering its own song.

A coquí chirps nearby, a quiet hymn in the island dark.

And still, it’s her that makes the world stop.

My wife. Looking at me like I hung the stars. Like maybe—just maybe—I deserve to be loved.

I can’t speak.

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