Page 22 of Awaited Love with You
His phone vibrates against the nightstand.
He doesn’t check it. Just presses a side button and sets it face-down.
Then his watch comes off. Deliberate. Slow. He sets it beside the phone like a quiet declaration:
I’m not here for anything but you.
Silence stretches between us, but it hums with electricity.
He steps closer, slow and certain, like he already knows I’ll meet him halfway. When our mouths come together, it isn’t tentative—it’s urgent. A kiss drawn from longing and silence and everything we haven’t said. His hands settle on my hips, steady and possessive, as he guides me back across the room with a patience that feels anything but calm.
By the time the backs of my knees hit the bed, I’ve forgotten how we got here. I only know I don’t want to stop.
He starts to lift me onto him, but I press a hand to his chest and shake my head.
“Not yet,” I murmur, my voice already fraying.
I push him down instead, easing him onto the mattress. He watches me through hooded eyes, breath shallow, muscles coiled. I lean over him, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his throat, then lower—down his chest, past his ribs, until I reach the line of his waistband.
When I take him in my mouth, he groans—a deep, broken sound that tells me exactly how close he’s been to losing control.
His fingers tighten in the bedding first. Then they find my hair.
But he doesn’t push. He just holds on, letting me set the pace.
I draw it out—slow, deep strokes designed to unmake him. I can feel the tension building in his body, in the way his breath catches and his hips flex just slightly under my hands. It’s all control and restraint until it isn’t. Until he’s falling apart and saying my name like he doesn’t know what language he’s speaking.
“Autumn…”
When I rise to meet him again, his hands move fast. He pulls me into him, kisses me with a hunger that’s all teeth and heat, then flips us without breaking rhythm.
He lowers me to the mattress, settling between my thighs like he’s done it a hundred times and never forgotten a single detail.His body presses against mine, hard and hot and deliberate, and when he enters me, I lose my breath all at once.
It’s not frenzied.
It’s deep. Slow. Intentional.
Like he needs this to last.
He moves inside me with a rhythm that feels like memory and promise woven together, like everything we tried to bury is still here—alive and burning between us.
“I missed you,” he says, voice raw. “I missed you so fucking much.”
My hands slip into his hair, pulling him closer, holding him to me like I can’t bear the space between us.
“I missed you, too.”
And I do.
With every part of me.
When I fall apart beneath him, it feels like a release and a return all at once. He holds me through it—hands firm, mouth soft—and kisses me with a reverence that makes my chest ache.
“I love you,” he whispers, his voice a rough echo against my skin.
I look up at him. Heart wide open. Guard down.
“I love you, too.”
