Page 60 of You've Got The Love
The words don’t feel big enough, but they’re all I have.
“You don’t have to be scared with me,” I add, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Not now. Not ever.”
Her voice cracks a little. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”
I smile, slow and warm. “You could never mess it up with me.”
She leans into my touch, and I kiss her—slow and deep, the kind that says I’m not going anywhere. That she’s safe.
When we fall into bed again, it’s not rushed.
It’s not new.
It’s known.
Her body fits against mine like it’s always been meant to, like it remembers me. I pull her in tight, chest-to-chest,my mouth pressed to her shoulder as I breathe her in. Her hair’s still damp from the shower, skin warm and soft beneath my hands, andfuck, she’s beautiful—messy curls, swollen lips, flushed cheeks from the heat building between us.
She looks up at me, eyes wide and open, like she’s giving me everything without even saying a word.
And I don’t take that lightly.
My hands skim over her ribs, down to the swell of her arse. I grip it, firm, grounding myself in her. She gasps—high, breathy—and her nails dig into my back, not hesitant now. Just hungry.
She’s not shy anymore.
She’s curious. Trusting.
She wants this—me—and that knowledge damn near undoes me.
I kiss her slow, deep, like we’ve got nowhere to be but here. Her thighs part easily under mine, and I take my time settling between them. She’s already wet for me—hot and ready—and the way she whimpers when I grind against her makes my cock twitch, makes my chest ache.
She’s shaking a little when I line myself up, and I pause.
“Amber,” I whisper, brushing my nose against hers. “You okay?”
She nods, eyes shining. “I want you.”
I push in slowly, inch by aching inch, holding her gaze the whole time. Her breath catches, legs wrapping around my waist, and I slide deeper until I’m buried to the hilt.
Christ. She feels like everything I’ve ever needed.
She’s tight, clenching around me, and it takes everything I have not to lose it right there. I stay still for a moment, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing through the sheer overwhelming want of it all.
Then she whispers my name, small and shaky—“Bas.”
I start to move.
It’s not frantic. It’s not rough. It’s slow and deep, like I’m trying to carve the shape of her into my bones. Every thrust is measured, deliberate, pressing us closer than we’ve ever been. Her hands claw at my back, nails dragging over my skin like she’s trying to hold on to something solid.
And I give it to her. I give hereverything.
My past, my guilt, my grief—it all fades. There’s only her. This.
She pants my name like a prayer, like I’m the only thing anchoring her to the world. And maybe I am. Perhaps that’s what this is. Two people who never thought they’d have something real, finding it in each other’s arms.
“Look at me,” I murmur, pulling back to cup her face.
She does.
