I leaned forward and kissed him sweetly, hoping my lips could convey what my voice simply couldn’t. Maybe it was only one tattoo among so many, but it was mine, and he’d kept it. Kept a piece of me. I hadn’t done the same for him.

He was the perfect model of a man, his muscles tight and firm—powerful without heavy bulk, carved like a master sculptor had chiseled him from stone, which was exactly how hard he was as I pushed him to sit in the center of our bed.

Sliding one knee on either side of his hips, I straddled him. His erection slid through my core until it rested between us, and Landon moaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Happily,” I said, then blinked. “Please tell me you brought condoms.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I learned my lesson the last time you yelled at me. They’re in my bag.”

I sighed in relief, then kissed him like my life depended on it. The rub of my breasts against his chest was exquisite, and I moved my hips restlessly against him as our tongues intertwined. His fingers grew impatient, digging into my hips with a wonderful bite. I loved the feel of him losing control—of being mine.

His breathing grew ragged as I sucked on his lower lip, then caught completely as I reached between us to stroke his length. He was hot and heavy in my hands, and I ran my thumb over the soft head that contrasted to the hardness of the rest of him.

“Rachel,” he gasped. “God, baby. Yes.” His hand stroked up my spine to grasp my neck, pulling me in for a hungry kiss.

As he rocked within my hand, I felt him grow even thicker, and my core clenched in response.

“Are you on fire for me?” I asked, turning his words on him.

Maintaining his grip on my neck, he pulled back to look at me, his eyes burning an intense shade of green. “I have always burned for you. I will always burn for you. You own me like no one ever has, or ever will. Only you, Rachel.”

I knew why he said my name, because he’d been unable to for so long, but instead of reminding me of how many women there had been in the past, it only made me feel needed, powerful. No matter what had happened in the years we hadn’t been together, there was one simple truth: we had always belonged to each other.

After one more kiss, I leaned over the edge of the bed, thankful his bag was nearby. A quick search and a rip of foil later, I rolled on the condom, savoring his intake of breath.

“How do you want me?” I asked, rising above him.

“However you’ll take me. I’m yours.”

His hand reached between us, and his thumb brushed over my hypersensitive clit, the light movement enough to send a jolt of need soaring through my belly.

On my knees, I moved until he was positioned at my entrance, and my breath caught at the enormity of our actions. “I love you,” I told him, not because I needed to hear it back, but because I needed him to understand what this meant to me.

“I have always loved you,” he promised.

He captured my mouth in a scorching kiss as I slid down, taking him inside inch by perfect inch.

“Look at me,” he said, breaking our kiss. My eyes popped open to watch his as I sank farther, stretching to accommodate his size. “I have only ever loved you,” he whispered, his words invading my soul as he took over my body, consuming every spare inch I had to give.

He felt like home.

Our breaths mingled in stuttered pants, our eyes locked, our bodies fused. I rocked, sliding until I completely sheathed him. Once I started, I couldn’t stop, setting a rhythm that he met, his jaw locked in restraint, his eyes dancing with fire.

I kissed him, savoring the way he had completely taken over. “I love the way you fill me,” I whispered. “You feel so damn good.”

As if I’d broken the string of his control, he growled and flipped us until my back hit the bed. Then he grasped my hands, holding them above my head. “That’s because you were always meant for me. Mine.”

“Yours,” I admitted, arching against his measured thrusts.

Each movement brought a higher level of pleasure, and it kept getting better. I wrapped my legs around his hips, and he hit deeper, harder, until I was writhing beneath him, my moans in time with his thrusts.

It was the same as it had been between us, the sweet fire, the desperate need, but it was also different—even better than what I thought had been the best sex of my life.

His muscles were rigid as he kissed me deeply, and I could almost taste the restraint he was using, how tightly he held himself in check.

I swirled my hips, and he groaned. “Fuck, Rachel,” he drew out my name.

Releasing my hands, he sent one to my hip and then lifted one knee so he could take me even deeper. I cried out as he used his hand between us to bring me back to the edge, my body on overload from every sensation.

That tight spiral of need took over, and my orgasm hit me, ripping his name from my lips. I shuddered around him as I came, and his thrusts sent me soaring even higher, until I separated from my body and saw stars.

The minute I fell apart, he snapped, his thrusts even deeper, harder, his rhythm abandoned in favor of the primal need we both felt as he took me over and over again.

His kiss broke into a guttural moan of my name as he came, his body shuddering and then tensing above mine—lust, love, and wonder etched on his face as he looked down at me.

God, I loved this man.

My heart swelled, flooding me with euphoria as he collapsed, then rolled us to his side so I could breathe. We didn’t speak; our eyes did that for us. It was everything I’d been starved for and so much more, a union that didn’t just slake my body’s needs, but my soul’s.