Page 236 of Legacy
I slip the shirt from her body and when I pull back to look at her, I swear I forget how to breathe.
She pulls me in the second the shirt’s off—urgent, like she doesn’t want me to look. Like I’ll see something she hates. Like she’s hiding from the moonlight.
But I don’t see flaws.
I see salvation.
Softness I want to worship. Skin I want to memorize. Curves that remind me how long I’ve gone without the only thing that ever made me feel whole.
She’s perfect.
Every goddamn inch of her is perfect.
My hand slides up her body, slower this time, like the act alone might undo me. My palm coasts over the curve of her waist, the softness of her stomach; and when she arches into me with a soft gasp, I feel it all.
The memory.
The ache.
The permission.
My mouth claims hers, desperate, tasting like missed chances and the forgiveness I never earned. Her tongue strokes mine and I groan, a guttural sound that rips through me because fuck, I’ve missed this.
Her.
The way she gives in without fear. The way she kisses like she’s trying to steal back every second we lost.
Her hips shift, legs parting further inviting me closer, and when my hand slips beneath the lace of her underwear—Christo.
She’s soaked.
Her breath catches. Her hand clutches my bicep.
I press my forehead to hers, breath heavy. “You’re dripping for me, Scarlet.”
“Beendripping for you,” she breathes.
And that wrecks me. That damn mouth of hers, still giving me more than I deserve.
I kiss her again, harder this time, and slide two fingers along her soaked pussy, slow and deliberate, gathering slick. Her moan breaks against my lips as I circle her clit slowly, deliberately, teasing her until her hips lift for more.
“You missed this?” I whisper. “Missed me touching you like this?”
She nods, eyes fluttering closed, and I feel her thighs start to tremble.
“Words,” I murmur. “Say it.”
“I missed this,” she gasps. “I missed you.”
That’s all I need.
I tear her panties at the seams—no patience, no pretense. I want her bare. I want her mine.
My mouth trails down her neck, biting gently at the curve of her shoulder. She whimpers when my fingers slip inside her, knuckles-deep, and I groan at the heat of her, the way her pussy clenches around me like she’s never stopped craving me.
“So fucking perfect,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her sternum. “You feel even better than I remember.”
She moans, one hand in my hair, the other sliding down my back, nails grazing the skin.
