Page 168 of Beyond Protection
"Yes."
I leaned in, letting the heat of his body guide me. My lips brushed his softly at first, then pressed with deliberate intent. The fingers of his good hand wove into my hair, anchoring me as our mouths met in an intentional, unhurried dance. I trailed kisses down the graceful curve of his jaw, tasting his warm skin, pausing at his throat until a quiet whimper slipped free of his lips.
I moved lower, each kiss an invitation: along his collarbone, over the gentle rise of his chest. His skin tasted of a mix of salt and the faint tang of antiseptic, alive under my lips. I took my time, exploring with mouth, fingers, breath—reverently skirting the injured shoulder, worshipping everything else.
When I reached his flat, muscular stomach, he drew in a sharp breath, and he squeezed my shoulder with his good hand. "You don't have to—" he began.
"I want to," I murmured, meeting his gaze. "This is for us. Celebrating what we chose together."
Understanding ignited behind his eyes. It was no mere transaction; it was a gift offered freely. "Yeah," he whispered, voice edged with emotion. "Yeah, okay."
My fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxer briefs; he lifted his hips, and they slid away. He was already hard, his cock pulsing. I wrapped my palm around the shaft, stroking once, slowly. His head tipped back, breath catching. "God—"
I lowered my mouth, capturing the tip with gentle warmth. He gripped my hair—not directing, only holding fast—and his hips arched toward me. I hollowed my cheeks, took him deeper, setting a steady, unhurried rhythm.
Every sound he made was raw, trusting, utterly beautiful. When my tongue traced a spot that sent a shudder through his whole form, he gasped, voice full of need. "Mac—I'm close—"
I kept going, coaxing him onward, each movement measured, caring. His breathing hit ragged peaks. When he came, calling my name, his good hand balling up the sheets, it was complete surrender—every barrier down. I continued to stroke him gently until his body relaxed, slightly trembling.
Lingering in the afterglow, I kissed my way back up his torso and settled beside him. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in bliss.
"Give me—" he whispered, throat tight. "Give me a minute. Then I want—"
"No rush," I soothed.
"But you—"
"We have time," I said, brushing my palm over his cheek. "All the time."
His eyes opened. "Partners," he murmured.
"In everything," I agreed, and he drew me close with his good arm, sealing the promise in a deep, lingering kiss.
His hand drifted down my side until he found my cock, hard and pressing against his hip. "My turn," he breathed against my lips.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," he insisted, wrapping me in a firm, knowing touch.
He guided me onto my back, careful to honor his healing shoulder, then lowered himself between my thighs. When his mouth closed around me, warm and deliberate, my senses exploded. He hummed softly, the vibrations sparking fire behind my eyes.
He moved with patient reverence, each sweep of tongue and gentle tug of lips drawing me higher. It didn't take long. I shuddered and spilled my cum over my abs and his chest.
After, we lay tangled together. My head on his chest.
"That was—" I started.
"Like we know we have time now."
"We do have time." I kissed his chest. "All the time."
He was quiet for a moment. Then:
"I love you."
Simple. Clear. No desperation. Truth.
"I love you too."
