Page 104 of Lost Then Found
I know she’s missed me. Not in some sweeping, poetic, grand confession kind of way. But in the way her body remembers. In the way she’s leaning into me now, like maybe letting me touch her is the only thing that makes sense.
Maybe this is purely physical for her. Maybe that’s all she can give me.
But right now? I’ll take it.
Because this—her—is the closest I’ve felt to home in years.
She does it again. Grinds against me with deliberate pressure, like she feels exactly how hard I am for her and wants to see how long I can keep it together.
A sound tears from my throat, rough and wrecked. Part groan. Part curse.
All her.
She’s teasing. Playing with fire.
And I snap.
My hands find her hips, fingers curling around the waistband of her leggings as I yank her back into me—harder this time. No more pretending. No more space.
I press into her like I need her to feel it—every inch of what she does to me. My mouth stays on her neck, dragging heat across her skin, tasting her, losing myself in it while her hips keep rolling in that slow, torturous rhythm.
My fingers dig deeper. Holding her there. But it’s not enough.
It’s never fucking enough when it comes to her.
A growl rumbles deep in my chest as I finally lose the last shred of patience. My hands slide off her hips, and I spin her to face me in one fast, hard move.
She gasps.
But I don’t give her time to process it.
I crash my mouth to hers—hard, hungry, needy.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe.
The kiss isn’t careful. It’s not patient. It’s desperate. Messy. Like we’ve been drowning and just found air again.
Like we’re trying to erase the ache of every second we spent apart by tasting all the places we used to know by heart.
She’s soft and warm and tastes like something I forgot I needed—something sweet and maddening and hers.
Her hands are everywhere—gripping my shoulders, sliding into my hair. Like this is just as brutal for her as it is for me.
I slide my hands down her sides, curve them around her ass, and lift her onto the counter. Her legs spread for me, thighs clenching around my hips like her body already knows how this goes—like it’s been waiting for this.
A broken sound leaves her mouth when I drag my teeth across her bottom lip, sucking it into mine before diving back in, deeper this time. Hungrier.
She tilts her head, opens for me, and I take all of it. My tongue slides against hers—slick, slow, claiming. There’s no pretending here. She’s giving me something real, and I take it like I’m afraid she’ll change her mind.
Her nails dig into my scalp as her hips rock against me—just enough to wreck my self-control completely. I break the kiss long enough to breathe a low groan against her mouth. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”
She doesn’t answer. Just fists the front of my shirt and yanks me back in like she’s not finished. Her mouth is hot and demanding, her kiss all tongue and need and memory, and I chase it—deepen it—my hand sliding up to tip her chin back so I can take more.
Her body presses into mine, thighs tight around my hips, pulling me in until there’s not a sliver of space between us. My hand trails down her side, over the curve of her waist, slipping under the waistband of her leggings.
And then I feel it—lace.
Barely there. High-cut. Soft and soaked. A teasing little thing that makes my jaw clench hard enough to ache.
