Page 65 of Bunker Down, Baby

My hands find hers, lacing our fingers, pressing them into the mattress as I roll my hips in long, lazy strokes.

She moans with every thrust, breath hitching each time I bottom out.

“You’re takin’ me so good,” I whisper, brushing kisses along her jaw. “Every damn inch. You were made for this. For me.”

She cries out, back arching as I hit just right. I grind my hips, pull out slow, then thrust back in deeper. She whimpers, writhes beneath me, and it’s the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

Her climax builds fast this time, sharp and desperate.

“Wade, Wade, I’m gonna…”

“Go on,” I whisper. “Let go for me.”

And she does. She shudders, thighs squeezing, walls fluttering around me as she comes again, harder this time. I press in deep and hold, feeling her clench and tremble, until the pressure inside me finally snaps.

I groan her name, low and hoarse, and spill into her, grinding slow through every wave until I’m spent and shaking, forehead resting against hers, both of us panting like we’ve run miles.

I kiss her again. Slow. Sweet.

“You good?” I murmur.

She nods, blinking up at me like she’s still floating. “Better than good,” she whispers. “Wrecked.”

I grin, press a kiss to her temple. “Wrecked is my specialty, sweetheart. And you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

I hold her there for a minute longer, her body still soft and heavy against mine, heart beating all slow and syrupy.

She hums when I run my hand down her side, like she’s still deciding whether she wants to melt into the mattress or climb me like a tree.

“Can’t feel my legs,” she mumbles.

I grin and brush my nose against her cheek. “That’s the goal, darlin’. Means I did my job right.”

She sighs. Happy. Spent. Sated.

My chest pulls tight with it, because I want this to be a thing. Not just the sex. Not just the sweetness. All of it. The calm after. The way she curls into me like she belongs there.

I stroke her for a little longer, just letting her settle. I like the way she feels like this, messy and smug and exactly where she’s supposed to be.

But after a few minutes, she shifts.

Not away. Not out of reach. Just up.

Her fingers tap lightly at my chest. “Okay,” she says on a breath. “As much as I want to stay right here and keep being emotionally unstable and extremely well-fucked…”

I chuckle low in my throat. “You got plans, don’t you?”

“Oh, baby,” she says, stretching like a cat. “I always have plans.”

She slides out of bed and starts reaching for clothes, one of my shirts, because of course.

I just lean back, watching her move. “Snack?” I ask.

She whirls around, eyes wide, hair wild, shirt halfway over her head. “Maybe second lunch. What time is it?”

I shrug. “End of the world o’clock?”

She points at me like I’ve just said something profound. “Exactly.”

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