Page 76 of Welded Defender
“Yes,” I whisper.
He goes very still. “Yes?”
“Yes,” I say again, and this time it’s not a shaky thing. It’s a grounded yes, roots sinking deep. “I want that. I want you.”
The relief that breaks over his face steals my breath. He leans in and kisses me—gentle, grateful, a vow spoken without words.
CHAPTER 42
Marcy
When Landon pulls back, he’s grinning in a way I’ve never seen before. Pure, undiluted joy fills his eyes.
“I love you so damn much,” he says.
“You better,” I grin back.
I tug him toward the bed. He sits with a soft wince I pretend not to notice. I kneel to pull off his old man slippers while he reaches for me like he can’t help himself, fingers skimming through my hair.
I lift up on my knees, letting him draw my mouth to his. He threads his fingers through my hair and kisses me like he’ll never get another chance. Deep and hard and full of unspoken promises.
His fingers find the buttons of my shirt, and it becomes clear where his mind has wandered.
I start to pull back, but he fists the borrowed flannel, holding me close.
“Landon...” I warn. “The doctor said?—”
“The doctor said I need to rest. I’m in bed. What’s more restful than this?”
I want to argue, but his lips drift down my cheek to that sensitive spot behind my ear, and I melt.
“Don’t think,” he whispers against my skin. “Just feel.”
I gasp as he leans back on the bed, pulling me up until I’m hovering over him. He fumbles with the buttons of the flannel I’m wearing—his flannel—until he grows frustrated and just rips it open, buttons scattering across the floor. His good hand finds the small of my back, fingers splaying wide. The bedroom lamp casts half his face in shadow, but his eyes catch the light—dark and intent.
“Landon,” I murmur, but he leans forward, catching the word with his mouth. His thumb traces the ridge of my ribs, then higher, hesitating at the edge of my bra. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.
He tugs at my ruined shirt with his good hand, the fabric sliding over my skin like a whisper before catching at my elbows. I shiver as cool air meets my shoulders, my collarbone, the lace edge of my bra. His fingers trace the curve beneath—reverent and warm.
“Fine,” I breathe, my voice catching as his thumb circles. My hand finds his jaw, tilting his face up to mine. “But I’m in charge. You don’t get to hurt yourself when you just got home.”
The corner of his mouth curves up, eyes darkening as I press him gently back against the pillows.
I shake my head when his fingers tug at his shirt hem. “Stay still,” I whisper, gently pressing my palm against his chest where his heart drums beneath my touch. The elastic of his sweatpants stretches with a soft whisper as I ease it down. His stomach muscles tighten, a ripple beneath warm skin. The sharp intake of his breath sends heat pooling low in my belly. When my hand slips beneath cotton, he fills my palm—velvet-hard and pulsing.
“I promised the doctor I would take good care of you,” I murmur, my fingers tracing a slow path along his length, feeling the heat and pulse beneath my touch. “That I wouldn’t let you exert yourself.”
His brows lift, a flush spreading across his cheekbones as his breathing quickens. “And how exactly do you intend to keep that promise?”
“Like this.” I lower my mouth, my hair falling forward to brush against his stomach. His breath catches as I take him between my lips, the salt-sweet taste of him spreading across my tongue. I watch his head fall back against the pillows, the tendons in his neck standing out as he fights to keep still.
He groans, low and broken, his good hand tangling in my hair. “Remind me,” he manages, voice rough as sandpaper, “to thank the doctor later.”
I smile around him as I sink lower, wrapping my lips tighter. He throbs against my tongue, and every groan that escapes sends a ripple of excitement through me, urging me to take him deeper. I lose myself in the rhythm, matching my movements to his breathing, to the way his body responds beneath me.
My lips stretch around him as I pull inward, tasting sea salt and caramel on my tongue. His fingers twist into my hair—not pulling, but gripping like a man clinging to a cliff's edge. Against my palm, his thigh jumps and twitches. I slide back, and the soft hitch in his throat makes my skin prickle. When I take him in again, the sound he makes vibrates through both our bodies—half groan, half gasp, his chest rising and falling like someone surfacing for air.
"God, Mar—" The rest of my name dissolves into a groan. I glance up through my lashes to find his jaw clenched, tendons standing out along his neck, skin flushed crimson down to where his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow movements. His eyes, when they meet mine, show only the thinnest ring of green around pupils blown wide. "You're incredible."
