Shoutout to those who are reading and being kind with their feedback and realizing if a story isn't for them, they aren't forced to read and definitely aren't obligated to tell me ;)

Mr. B and I are going to Palm Springs tomorrow with friends (first trip without Arlo!) so we're pretty excited (and I'm nervous! lol). Not sure when the next update will be.

Big thanks to Paige for re-reading this chapter. Love love love her.

Mistakes are mine from here on out!

22
- love the lonely out of you -

His kiss is fierce and intense, but it feels good.

I've been without his mouth for so long, I'll take it any way I can get it. Rough, soft, hurried or lazy. I want it all. Whatever he is willing to give me.

I kiss him back just as hard, feeling my body come to life.

He grabs my face but he's not gentle about it. His tongue is hot and wet and persistent against mine. His teeth bite my bottom lip before he kisses me softer, an apology for getting out of control.

He's a crazed man.

A desperate man.

I'm everything he is and more.

I'm crazed.

Desperate.

Remorseful.

"I'm sorry," I murmur when we break apart. "I'm—"

"Shhh," he whispers, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck, placing the softest kiss there.

I can't let it go. "I'm—"

"I know. I forgive you. Just tell me you want this," he whispers, biting my earlobe. "Tell me you want me, baby."

"I want you," I gasp, but it's not even close to the truth. "I need you."

A deep growl rumbles from his chest and he kisses and sucks on the spot below my ear, sending goosebumps across my body.

We're frantic then.

Touching and groping and kissing.

It needs to be this way so I don't overthink it.

It needs to be frenzied and carnal and desperate so I don't worry about the angles of my body or the fact that I'm not as smooth or trimmed as I want to be in the place I want him most.

It needs to be this way so zero part of me has time to think of him and Maria.

Before I can stop it, it happens—an image of the two of them.

But it's different than the other times I've thought of that night.

It's like after our honest conversation, I'm seeing it all in a new light.

There's no longer a self-sabotaging filter over that memory.

All I see is the truth.

With her, his touch wasn't frenzied or carnal or desperate.

His movements weren't as passionate.

There was no desire there. None at all.

I let the memory fade.

Let it go.

I stay in the moment because I'm going to have sex with my husband.

He kisses his way back to my mouth while he grips my hips so I'm straddling him. So I'm right where he wants me.

He's already hard. I can feel him through his joggers. I'm aching to be closer, to feel nothing between us. I grind my hips against him while his fingers undo my jeans. My knees press into the mattress and I lift myself up a bit to give him easy access, which he takes because he instantly slides a hand down the front of my underwear.

Seeking.

Searching.

I gasp when his fingers find my clit, then moan when he moves lower to where I'm wet.

His gaze darkens, eyes hooded, fingers playing with me.

"Fuck, Bella," he hisses, his fingers curling inside of me and making me cry out with pleasure. "No one else touched you?" he asks, but I don't know why—I told him the truth.

"No one, baby," I moan, and his thumb circles my clit with more pressure.

I'm already so close to coming, but he stops, and says, "I want my mouth on you."

My heart pounds and he grabs my hips, moving me off of him. I sit on the bed and he stands, his arousal creating a tent in his joggers. I tug them down a bit and find he's not wearing his boxer briefs. He must have taken them off when I went into the bathroom earlier. That's probably why he sounded so playful when he told me to come and see for myself after I said he had dressed too fast.

He smirks.

His cock is right there, hard and thick and swollen, aching to be touched and licked and sucked.

Worshiped.

I drop to my knees and grab the base before sliding my tongue along him just once.

Just a taste.

Just a tease.

"Fuuuuck," he grits out, his voice low and strained. "Fuck, baby. Suck it, please."

I do.

His hand cradles the back of my head, guiding me back and forth. Guiding himself in and out. He groans when I use my hand to slide up and down his shaft, mouth hollow, still licking and sucking.

"Just like that," he coaxes, so far gone. "Goddamn, I missed your fucking sexy mouth."

I suck his cock a little longer before he pulls back. I pout, wanting one more taste. I greedily suck the head of him, tongue running over his ridge, his slit.

"Easy, baby," he warns, helping me up. "Take off your clothes."

We both scramble to get undressed, helping each other. I fully tug down his joggers then lie back so he can yank off my jeans.

Shirts are tossed.

My bra unclasped.

All that's left is my underwear and he kneels at the end of the bed and slowly peels them down my legs, eyes hungry with desire.

He stays there for a beat, admiring me. Love and lust and affection on his face.

"You don't know how many times I've thought about this," he murmurs. "Dreamed about it. Fucking agonized over it."

His words send a crack through my chest.

"I thought about it too," I admit. "Spent so many nights touching myself wishing it was you."

His focus darts there, to the pussy I rubbed raw while thinking of him.

And then his eyes roam, scorching the rest of my body under his gaze.

I fight the urge to cover myself.

My heart pounds while waiting for his next move.

And then I do cover myself.

It's instinctual.

My arms cross over my flat stomach, hiding nothing, trying to keep him from noticing the way my hip bones jut out, or the way my boobs disappear when I lie down. I bend my knees and press my feet against the mattress, closing my legs, my thighs barely touching.

"Don't do that," he says firmly, leaning over to kiss my knee before parting my legs. "Don't hide from me. You're fucking perfect, Bella."

"I'm not…"

"You're perfect for me," he growls. "You fucking hear me?"

Tears burn my eyes but I open myself up to him again.

Hovering over me, he captures my mouth in a hungry kiss.

And then his lips and teeth and tongue move down, down, down, until his hot breath is on me.

He makes me wait.

Bites the inside of my thigh.

Kisses it better.

He presses one soft, teasing peck to my clit, and a spark of pleasure ignites within me. Another kiss, this time with his tongue. He moans against me. I tangle my fingers in his sexy fucking hair, tugging and pulling while he eats me deeply.

"Missed this," I sigh, my arousal heightening, my hips moving for more friction.

I stare down at him, his blonde and bronze head of hair between my legs. I want to commit the image to memory. I wish I had my camera. Wish I could capture this beautiful fucking moment. Wish I could record the way he hums and licks, the way my body responds so easily to him.

"Fucking love you," he speaks against me, his words muffled and creating a vibration that I crave.

He adds his fingers, mouth only on my clit now.

I want to make this sensation last, want his mouth on me forever, but I remember I can have this all the time.

This won't end tonight.

It's just the beginning again.

With that reminder, I give in and clench around his fingers, crying out and panting as my orgasm blooms and bursts.

"You sound so fucking sexy," he murmurs, giving me one last lick.

He kisses his way back up and settles between my legs, where he belongs. Capturing my mouth in a heated kiss, he grinds his dick against the wettest part of me and it feels so fucking good.

"This is gonna be fast," he warns.

"Don't care. We can do it again later. And tomorrow. And every day after that."

With his hips still moving, his cock deliciously rubs up and down my clit. "Fucking promise me, Bella."

My fingers brush over his perfect lips. "I promise."

Lifting himself up with one arm, he wastes no time gripping himself and slowly pushing into me, filling me until his body is flush with mine.

It's intense.

Uncomfortable but in the most delicious way.

He starts to slowly move, and he groans like he's in so much pleasure that it hurts.

Like he'll never want this feeling to end.

Like he'll never want anyone else.

My eyes sting with tears because I missed this connection.

Missed the weight of him.

Missed how tender he is with me.

He notices the emotion I'm bad at hiding.

"I just—" I start to say, but he cuts me off with a deep kiss.

"Me too. It's okay," he promises, bringing a hand up to wipe one of the tears that escaped.

I swallow back my emotion and my remorse and focus on now.

Not our past hurt or my past mistakes.

I focus on this moment.

Focus on the forgiveness he's offering.

Focus on his face as he slowly thrusts in and out.

He's watching my face, too.

"This okay?" he asks breathlessly. "Fuck, you feel so good. Perfect."

"More," I beg. "Don't be gentle. You won't hurt me."

He picks up his pace, fucking me harder, faster. It's what I need. What we both need. This release. This pounding pleasure. This delicious, carnal lust we've always been so good at chasing.

We don't speak but we're all sounds and gasps and groans.

He thrusts wildly, grabbing onto the headboard for leverage. He's so sexy, so sexy, hitting me in the right spot. His dick going so deep, his groin rubbing my clit.

He pounds into me like he wants to hurt me.

Like he wants to fuck me so I will feel him forever.

Hard, hard, healing.

Our skin slaps.

He lowers his head to suck on my tits. He worships them.

Says things like fucking gorgeous and so goddamn sexy and your body was made for me.

His teeth graze my nipple, and then his mouth moves to my neck, sucking and biting there. I actually feel his teeth again, but this time he's not gentle. He wants to mark me.

The longer we make love, the more I can't believe I ever thought he had a connection with Maria.

It wasn't like this with her.

All-consuming and frenzied and passionate. There were no shared words or kisses. It was mild compared to this. Restrained.

Of course, he might have enjoyed the sex. But that's all it was—sex.

It wasn't anything close to what we have.

Love, love, love, love, love.

"Fuck, I'm too close," he grits out.

"Me too," I promise.

We're silent again, chasing our orgasms.

I hold on tight. Wrap my arms and legs around him, so he knows he's mine.

Mine.

That I love being with him this way.

That I'm greedy for him and I'll never ever share him again.

"Come inside of me," I urge. "Start coming and I'll follow."

He lifts his head and laughs breathlessly. "That's a dangerous game."

"Why?"

"What if I come too fast, and you don't get to again?"

"Just do it," I tell him. "Trust me."

With understanding, he pins my arms above my head and keeps fucking me, his steady pace eventually turning erratic.

His brows knit together in concentration, and I want a picture of that too.

That expression right before he comes.

Fervent and frenzied passion.

So, so lost.

So fucking found.

His mouth is on mine. We kiss and kiss and breathe into each other's mouths. I can feel it, so close, right there. Just a little more.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, his hands squeezing my wrists, finally losing control and spilling into me.

And then I lose control, too. Just like I told him I would.

Our mutual pleasure washes over me.

Pulls me under.

I'm drowning in him, with him.

Crying out his name, telling him I love you, fuck, I love you.

With his face buried in my neck, mouth so close to my ear, he begs me to say it again.

He sounds strangled, earnest. Like he really does need to hear it a third, fourth, fifth time.

We both relax, our bodies going slack.

And then I feel wetness on my skin, on my neck, and I tangle my fingers in his hair to pull him back so I can see his face.

With tears in his eyes, he stares down at me intensely.

Vulnerably.

My throat tightens, and with my own tears burning in my eyes, I tell him I love him again.

And again.

And again.

He soaks it in.

Absorbs it.

Believes it.

And then he says so quietly pained and serious, "Don't ever fucking leave me again."