Jaxon

I can’t get her upstairs fast enough.

Truthfully, I’m not even sure how I managed it. All I know is she said yes.

I asked Claire to stay and she said yes.

Yes.

After that, everything was a blur.

I must’ve picked her up because I’m holding her. I must’ve carried her upstairs because we’re in my room, the dim light from my bedside lamp shining softly, standing at the foot of my bed.

I turn, setting her on her feet to stand in front of me before I sink down, sitting on the edge of the bed. Enthralled, I watch her reach down, taking off one shoe and then the other before dropping them on the floor.

“No,” she says softly, her hands reaching for the small of her back so she can work down the zipper of her dress.

“No?” I can feel my brow furrow, worried about what she’s about to say, even while I can’t look away from the sight of her undressing in front of me.

“No,” she says, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she works her hips to shimmy out of the tight, black dress she’s wrapped in. Baring her breasts. Her soft belly. The whisper of lace between her thighs. “I’m not getting married.”

Unable to take another second of not touching her, I nod, even as I’m reaching for her. “That’s good,” I tell her as I close a trembling hand over her breast, giving it a gentle squeeze as I lift it to my mouth. “I was wondering if I was going to have to kill someone.” I look up at her and she pushes he hands through my hair with a gasp when I draw her nipple into my mouth to give it hard, greedy pulls that tighten it instantly against my tongue.

“Don’t you mean worrying?” she says, her voice thin and soft.

I snake an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, turning and falling until I have her under me, stretched out across the bed. Even as I move her, I can’t take my mouth off her. My fingers digging into the soft, yielding flesh of her hip while I devour her, my tongue licking its way over feverish skin. Between her breasts. Across her belly to dip into her navel. The place where her leg meets her hip. Trailing slowly along the inside of her thigh until I’m there. Right where I need to be.

“No, I mean wondering, because there’s no use worrying about something I can’t change,” I tell her grazing her tender pink flesh with my teeth. “I’d kill any other man who tried to claim you.”

“Jax—” The rest of my name gets snagged on a sharp, ragged gasp when I drag my tongue up the center of her and she sighs, her hands cradling the back of my head, even as she’s lifting her hips to press herself against my mouth, rubbing herself against my tongue.

“Still greedy,” I growl against her, nipping and sucking at her with my lips and teeth, slipping my hands under her ass to lift her, pressing her pussy against my face so I can fuck her with my tongue.

“Yes…” she moans softly, her hips rocking in my hands, my shoulders pushing against her thighs, opening her even further so I can taste every part of her I’ve been missing.

Needing.

“Jesus Christ, Claire.” My breathing is harsh and shallow, every push and draw of my lungs against her like torture to us both. “As warm and sweet as I remember,” I say, circling her swollen clit with the tip of my tongue.

Closing my mouth over the top of her, I slip a finger inside, long and slow, and start to suck her off, matching each stroke I’m giving her to the pulls of my mouth until she’s writhing and bucking on the bed underneath me, her soft cries and grasping hands pushing me so close the edge, I’m about to come just from the feel of her against my tongue. The taste of her in my mouth. Her hands in my hair.

She lets out a sharp, shuddering gasp and her thighs slam closed around my head even as her pussy locks around my finger, each pulsing clench of it trying to draw me deeper. Keep me inside her.

I let out a groan of my own, suddenly so eager to get my cock inside her that I’m shaking. Strung out. It doesn’t matter that I was buried inside her only a few hours ago. It doesn’t matter that we have a lifetime together. That I asked her to stay with me and she said yes. I need to fuck her so bad I can feel my bones cracking under the weight of it.

I lever myself up and over her enough to yank my pants down around my hips before settling between her parted thighs, the head of my throbbing cock pressed against her.

“Wait,” she pants out, eyes wide. Small hand pressed against my shoulder.

Shit. Right. “I don’t have a condom.” I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a long breath, instantly backing off. “It’s been a while since I—”

“That’s not why I stopped you.”

My eyes pop open and I look down to see her staring up at me, her hand still pressed against my shoulder. “Did I hurt you?” I feel my face fall into a scowl. “Did I do something to—”

“No…” The hand on my shoulder slips down, skimming down my pec, fingers bumping along the tight muscles in my abdomen. “It’s my turn,” she says, her lids lowering over blueish gray eyes as her hand wraps around my cock. “I want to know if you taste as good as I remember.”

Holy shit.

My eyes slam shut again and I groan. Push myself into her grip, pumping my hips against her hand. “Claire…” I growl her name, the muscles at the base of my spine tightening so hard and fast, it almost hurts. “I’m struggling here.”

She lets go of me to throw her leg over my hip and turns, pushing me flat on the mattress to straddle my stomach. “Then relax,” she says, bending over me to press her mouth to my throat.  “And let me do what I want.”

“What’s that?” I groan softly because I want to hear her say it. I like the blush that spills across her cheeks when she talks dirty.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” she whispers in my ear before licking her way down the taut cords of my neck. My collarbone. My pecs. Abs. Teeth scraping against my hipbone. My dick jerking every time her a part of her brushes against the base of my shaft. Pre-cum leaking from the tip at a steady pace, faster and faster the closer her mouth gets to where she’s going.

If she keeps it up, we’re not going to get that far.

She goes still. Stops touching me. Stops teasing me and somehow that’s worse. “Claire?” I crunch upward, drawing my elbows up and underneath me so I can look down at her. She’s looking at my scar. Raised and pink over the place where one of my kidneys used to be. The one I gave to my son.

The reason I left her all those years ago.

I open my mouth to say something.

Claire.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the next seventy years making it up to you. Every day, for the rest of our lives.

Whatever it is, she doesn’t give me the chance.

She leans in, pressing her lips to the scar, kissing it so reverently, it feels like worship.

It feels like forever.

It feels like fate.