Chapter 54

Chapter Fifty-Four

Haydn

The door clicks shut behind us, but I barely notice. The house could be on fire, and I wouldn’t care. My focus is entirely on her—on the way her breath hitches when my lips skim the curve of her neck, on the soft tremble that runs through her when I press closer. She’s been in my arms since we boarded the jet, and I still can’t get enough. I’ve forgotten what restraint feels like.

Her scent fills my senses, something soft and floral with a hint of sweetness that lingers on my tongue as I kiss her shoulder. The straps of her blouse slide down easily beneath my fingers, baring more of her smooth, golden skin. I kiss my way down her arm, tracing the line of muscle and softness, feeling the way her body melts into mine.

“You’re the most gorgeous woman in the world,” I murmur, my voice rough, barely more than a rasp. It’s the truth, spoken without hesitation. The way she shivers in response, her breath catching as my hands roam over her curves, only fuels the fire roaring inside me.

I cup her face and kiss her, tender at first, savoring the softness of her lips. But it isn’t enough. It never is. My tongue slides between her parted lips, and her soft moan sends a shockwave straight through me. My hands tangle in her curls, pulling her closer, needing more. Her hands grip my hair, fingers threading and holding me to her like she doesn’t want to let go.

What starts slow and steady quickly ignites into something frantic, desperate. Our kisses are greedy now, mouths crashing together like we’re starving for each other. Her nails graze the back of my neck, and the sting only heightens the tension coursing through me. I slide my hands lower, pressing her against me, and she arches into my touch like she was made to fit me.

The world fades away—the house, the quiet hum of the lake beyond the glass walls, even the sound of my own heartbeat. Nothing else matters except her. Nothing else ever could.

The urgency between us is electric, each kiss charged with a hunger that refuses to be sated. Pia is an addiction—one I can’t shake, wouldn’t shake even if I could. My hands move with purpose, sliding over her soft skin as we strip each other of every barrier. I need her like I need my next breath, and after today, there won’t be any turning back. She’ll be all I need—everything I’ll ever want.

Our kisses deepen, a desperate, consuming rhythm that feels as if we’re the only source of oxygen for each other. The world blurs around us, fading into irrelevance. It’s just us.

Her.

Only her.

My love.

My forever.

My everything.

My life.

I start with her beautiful breasts, letting my lips brush over the lace of her bra. Her nipples are hard peaks beneath the delicate fabric, and I can’t resist drawing one into my mouth. The lace is a tease, soft against my tongue as I suck gently, then harder, drawing a gasp from her lips. Her back arches, and her fingers twist tightly in my hair, urging me closer, demanding more.

My mouth doesn’t stop. I kiss my way across her chest, worshiping every curve, before trailing lower. My tongue flicks over her belly button, and she shivers, her soft moan sending a pulse of heat straight through me. I let my lips linger there for a moment before trailing back up, tasting her, memorizing her.

Her moans grow breathy, urgent, as she clutches the back of my neck, her nails digging into my skin just enough to make my pulse quicken. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me as my free hand cups her breast. My thumb flicks over her nipple, drawing another sharp intake of breath, and I can’t help but grin against her skin.

I bury my face between her breasts, inhaling her scent, letting it drown out everything else. It’s intoxicating—a mix of something floral and uniquely her. My hands trace the curve of her waist, sliding over her hips with a reverence I can’t control. Her skin is soft, warm, and alive beneath my fingers, more perfect than I could have imagined. Every sigh, every tiny movement she makes pulls me deeper into her, binding me to this moment.

She’s absolute perfection.

“I want to fuck your tits,” I rasp against her skin, my voice raw and low. Her breath catches sharply, and before I can stop myself, I add, “Mark you.”

Her gasp is soft, but the sound shoots straight through me. “Do you want that?” I ask, my lips brushing her nipple as I speak. “Or tell me—what do you want?”

Her response is wordless, a whimper that sends a shiver down my spine. I take her nipple into my mouth again, suckling until her back arches and her fingers clutch at my hair, holding me to her. The lace of her bra barely registers as my tongue teases her, drawing slow, deliberate circles that make her tremble. She moans, her hips shifting, her need as palpable as mine.

My free hand moves lower, trailing down her stomach, pausing just at the edge of her panties. She’s already warm, her body radiating heat that I can feel even through the fabric. My fingers slip beneath, seeking, searching until I find the slick heat of her center.

Her breath hitches sharply, her moans turning into something softer, breathier. My thumb brushes over her clit, and she shudders, her nails digging into my scalp. Her hips roll against my hand, chasing the rhythm I set, and the sound she makes—a desperate, aching moan—nearly undoes me.

I want to push her further, to feel her completely unravel in my arms, to make her forget the world as much as I already have. She’s all I see, all I feel, all I need.

“Yes, fuck me with your hand,” she begs, her voice breathless, needy. “Lick me.”

Her words send a jolt straight through me, and I growl softly against her neck. “Such a good girl,” I murmur, my lips brushing her skin. “Telling me exactly what you want.”

I lift her into my arms, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist as I carry her to the couch. Lowering her onto the cushions, I reach behind her and unhook her bra, my fingers deft and deliberate. The straps fall away, and her breasts spill free, soft and perfect, rising and falling with her quickened breaths.

“Fuck, look at you,” I whisper, my voice thick with desire as I take her in. “So beautiful. So mine.”

I can’t help myself. I lower my head, capturing one of her nipples between my lips, sucking gently at first and then harder when her moan fills the air. My hand slides down her stomach, slipping between her thighs again. She’s hot, wet, and ready, and I revel in the way her body reacts to every touch, every flick of my tongue or press of my fingers.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, my voice a low growl. “You want more, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she breathes, her lips trembling as she looks at me.

I grab her breasts, molding them around my cock, and the way she gasps is enough to drive me wild. Slowly, I thrust between them, the slick warmth of her skin sending fire through my veins.

“Look at you,” I say, my voice rough and filled with praise. “Taking me like this, being so fucking perfect for me.” Her hands press against her breasts, squeezing them tighter around me as I move. “You’re so good, Pia. So damn good.”

She moans, her hips shifting against the couch, her body begging for more even as I lose myself in the sight of her, the feel of her.

“You make me lose control,” I admit, the words slipping out as I thrust harder. “You’re everything.”

Her gaze locks with mine, her lips parted and trembling as a shudder ripples through her body. “Haydn,” she whispers, my name barely audible, yet it cuts through the air with sharp need. It’s not just a request, it’s a demand, a plea that consumes me. “Fuck me, Haydn. I need you inside me.”

I take a steadying breath, letting her words sink in, feeling the weight of her trust in me. “I’ve got you,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair away from her flushed face. “I’m going to take care of you.”

Gently, I adjust her position, her back cushioned by the couch as I kneel between her legs. I pause, my hand caressing her cheek, searching her face for any sign of discomfort. She nods, her breath hitching, and I lean down to kiss her, slow and tender, pouring every ounce of my love into the touch.

“I’m yours,” I whisper against her lips. “Always.”

I take my time, sliding my hand down her side, careful not to press too hard, knowing her fibromyalgia can turn even the softest touch into pain. My fingers brush over her thigh, coaxing her legs wider as I position myself. She’s ready for me, her body welcoming, her breaths shallow and quick.

Slowly, I guide myself to her, pressing forward inch by inch. Her warmth envelops me, and I have to close my eyes to steady myself, to hold on to the control that’s hanging by a thread. “God, Pia,” I groan, my voice raw with emotion. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

She lets out a soft gasp as I slide deeper, her nails biting into my shoulders, holding me as though I’m her anchor. “Is this okay?” I ask, my lips brushing her ear. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s perfect,” she whispers, her voice trembling but sure. “You’re perfect.”

I move slowly, methodically, each thrust deliberate, each pull purposeful. I want her to feel every inch of me, to know that this isn’t just about the physical—it’s about everything we’ve ever shared, everything we’ve been through. “I missed you,” I murmur, my forehead pressed against hers. “Every part of you.”

Her moans grow louder, her body arching to meet mine, and I grip her waist with one hand, keeping her steady. “That’s it,” I praise, my voice low and reverent. “Take me. Let me feel you.”

She clings to me, her hands sliding into my hair, her body responding to mine with a need that matches my own. “You’re mine,” I tell her, my movements slow and deep, meant to brand her with the truth. “And I’m yours. Always yours.”

Her eyes flutter open, locking with mine again, and I see it there—the trust, the love, the need that mirrors my own. In this moment, there’s no pain, no hesitation. Just us.

I thrust deeper, my movements still controlled but harder now, testing the edge of her limits. She gasps, her nails raking down my back, and the way she clings to me drives me wild. My forehead presses to hers, our breaths mingling as I slow just enough to speak.

"Touch yourself," I command, my voice rough and low, thick with need. "I want to feel you come while I’m inside you. Show me how good you feel."

Her hand trembles as she moves it between us, her fingers finding her clit. I thrust again, deeper this time, and her moan nearly undoes me. Watching her, feeling her tighten around me, it’s enough to make my pulse thunder in my ears.

“That’s it, Pia. Good girl,” I murmur, my voice soft yet commanding. “Let me feel how much you love this, how much you love me inside you.”

Her hips meet mine, her movements frantic now, and I pick up the pace, each thrust sending us closer to the edge. Her cries grow louder, her body arching beneath me, and the way she says my name—ragged, breathless—shatters what little control I have left.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” I groan, gripping her waist tighter, pulling her closer. “Made for me. Look at you—so beautiful, taking all of me.”

Her eyes meet mine, wide and hazy with pleasure, and her lips part, her voice trembling. “Haydn, please . . . I want you to come inside me. Fill me, please.”

The desperation in her voice sends a bolt of heat straight through me. My thrusts grow faster, deeper, each one driving us closer. “You want that?” I growl, my breath ragged. “You want me to fill you up? Say it again.”

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “I need you, Haydn. I need all of you.”

“Fuck, Pia,” I groan, burying myself as deep as I can go, grinding against her, my hand tangling in her hair. “You’re mine. Every inch of you is mine.”

Her body clenches around me, her cry breaking free as her orgasm takes her. The sight of her, the sound of her—it's everything. I follow, my release ripping through me, filling her as I press my hips tight against hers. My forehead drops to her shoulder, and for a moment, everything is silent except for our breathing, the aftermath of our connection settling over us.

“You’re amazing,” I whisper, kissing her sweat-dampened skin. “We’re amazing together.”

She sighs, her fingers brushing the back of my neck, soft and tender now. “You’re mine, Haydn,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

I lift my head to meet her gaze, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “Always yours,” I tell her, my voice soft but firm. “And you’re mine. Forever.”