Page 107 of The Final Faceoff
From us.
I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding myself. Because this moment is immense, pressing in from all sides. The truth of what we’ve just admitted is more than a single kiss can hold.
I need more. I need her.
My fingers drift down, skimming over her belly—our daughter beneath my palm, my entire fucking world curled up inside of her—before I drag my hand lower, gripping her hip. I keep her close, feeling the warmth of her against my skin, the way she fits against me like we were made for this.
“Say it again,” I murmur, my lips brushing against hers. “Say it while you’re looking at me like that.”
Her breath catches.
“I love you,” she whispers.
My grip tightens. My body tightens. I swear to God, those words are going to ruin me.
She doesn’t even realize what she’s done, how deeply she’s just fucking branded me with those three syllables.
I kiss her hard—slow and deep and possessive—letting her feel everything I can’t say yet. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming, demanding, swallowing the soft little whimper she gives me.
“Good girl,” I murmur against her lips.
She shivers.
Fuck.
I flip us slowly, carefully, shifting her until I’m above her, keeping my weight off her belly, keeping her and our baby safe, even as I pin her beneath me.
Her hands slide up my chest, her nails dragging lightly over my skin, sending a sharp pulse of need straight to my cock. I know she can feel how hard I am, the thick press of me against her thigh, the way my body is fucking desperate for her.
“You need something, baby?” My voice is low, teasing, but full of promise.
She nods, biting her lip.
I smirk. Not good enough.
“Use your words.”
She swallows. Then, quietly, “I need you. I need your cock inside my cunt.”
I exhale through my nose, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to her throat.
“I know, Hails.” My voice is rough, shaken, because as much as I’m in control, she wrecks me. “And I’m gonna give it to you. But you’re gonna take it slow. This is our first time and I need to claim you, show you who you belong to.”
She nods quickly, like she’ll do anything I ask.
I sit back on my heels, taking her in—flushed cheeks, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. She’s in my sweatshirt, the sleeves hanging loose around her wrists, her pajama shorts teasing me with the barest glimpse of skin. Too much fabric. Too many barriers between me and what’s mine.
I grip the hem of the sweatshirt, my knuckles brushing the soft skin of her stomach as I peel it upward. She lifts her arms without hesitation, letting me strip it away, leaving her bare from the waist up, the glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows over every curve.
“Perfect,” I murmur, dragging my fingertips down her ribs, watching the way she trembles beneath my touch. “So fucking perfect.”
Her hands twitch at her sides, like she wants to reach for me, but I shake my head, pinning her with a look. “Not yet,” I murmur. “Let me take my time.”
She exhales shakily, nodding, and I move lower, hooking my fingers into the waistband of her shorts. I pull them down inch by inch, savoring the way her breath hitches, the way she lifts her hips for me, giving me exactly what I want.
When I finally have her bare, stretched out beneath me, I drag my hands down her thighs, my palms trailing heat in their wake.
“That’s better,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the swell of her stomach, worshiping the curve of her belly before shifting lower, dragging my tongue along her inner thigh, making her writhe.
