Page 44 of You've Got The Love
Shouldn’t have fucking touched her.
Not when Abel is at home, missing me. Not when Marieke’s ghost still lingers in the back of my mind, a reminder of the man I swore I wouldn’t be again. A man who loves. A man who risks his heart.
But Amber has been under my skin for years, and I’m lying to myself if I pretend otherwise. Every laugh she gave me over that counter, every glance when she thought I wasn’t looking, every time her fingers brushed mine over a bouquet—it all chipped away at my walls.
Now those walls are fucking rubble.
“Bas?” Her voice is soft, pulling me out of my head.
I meet her eyes, and everything else—the forest, the cold, the danger—fades into nothing. It’s just her.
“Come here,” I murmur. My voice is low, rough, like gravel in my throat.
She doesn’t hesitate. She crawls across the narrow space, the blanket slipping down her arms, and when she settles in my lap, it feels inevitable—like gravity finally won.
Her arms loop around my neck. Her fingers slide into my hair, and the scent of her—jasmine that’s just Amber—obliterates the last of my self-control.
I kiss her. Hard at first, like a man starved, then soft, like I can’t believe I’m allowed this.
Her lips part with a soft sound that damn near kills me. The blanket pools at her waist, and my hands are on her before I can stop myself—her waist, her back, tracing every curve I’ve been dying to touch for years.
I should stop. I should pull back. I should remember that we’re running for our lives and that my son is sleeping in a room that’s too empty tonight.
But I can’t.
Because right now, she’s mine. She’s warm and real and pressed against me, and the world is simple. There’s no MC, no black van, no guilt that I’ve been dragging around like a chain. There’s just Amber, and the truth I’ve been too much of a coward to say out loud: I want her.
She whispers my name like a prayer, and I lift her, laying her back on the mattress we folded from the seats. The vanbecomes our own small universe, dimly lit and heavy with the smell of rain and heat.
“Tell me to stop,” I rasp against her neck, my voice breaking.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispers back, and that’s it. That’s the end of me.
I kiss down her throat, my stubble scraping her soft skin, my hands greedy and sure now. Her hoodie is off before I realise I’ve even tugged it free. My palm slides over her warm stomach, up to her bra, and she arches into my touch with a soft, broken sound that punches straight to my cock.
“Fuck, Amber,” I groan, lowering my head to mouth at her breast through the lace. “Do you know how many nights I’ve thought about this? About you?”
She shivers, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “Bas…”
Her leggings are off in a blur, and I settle between her thighs, the sight of her spread out in the back of my van nearly undoing me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I mutter, kissing down her stomach, tasting salt and skin. “So fucking mine.”
When I slide my tongue over her, she gasps my name, her hips jerking. I hold her down gently, savouring the way she trembles, the way she’s already wet and ready for me. I lick slow and deep, drinking in every sound she makes, every whisper of “please” that leaves her lips.
She comes fast, clenching around nothing, and I ride it out, kissing her inner thigh before I crawl up her body and kiss her hard, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
I don’t wait long. I can’t. I free myself, slide inside her in one smooth, hungry thrust, and the world tilts.
“Fuck—” I groan, forehead dropping to hers as I fill her completely. “You feel… Jesus, Amber, I could die like this.”
We move together fast, messy, urgent. The van rocks with our rhythm, the cold forest outside and the danger beyond it erased by heat and skin and the raw sound of our breathing. My hand finds hers and pins it above her head, the other gripping her hip as I drive into her.
Every stroke is a confession I don’t have words for. Every kiss is a promise I’m terrified to make but can’t hold back.
“Say my name,” I pant.
“Bastiaan,” she moans, and I’m gone.
