Page 124 of Returned Mail

“We’re really doing this,” I murmur.

“Oh, we’re doing more than this,” he says, voice dropping, eyes dark with that hunger he never bothers to hide anymore. “We need to properly christen the place.”

I blink up at him, breath catching. “George⁠—”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my leggings and pulls them until they slide down my hips. Heat floods through me instantly.

“George,” I whisper again, but it sounds more like a plea than a protest.

“Come here,” he murmurs, lifting me effortlessly by the waist and setting me on the counter, exactly where the letter had been minutes before. “I want the first memory in this kitchen to be you.”

We both laugh as he settles me on the counter.

His hands slide to my thighs, spreading them wide, opening me completely to his gaze. His mouth trails down my body, heating my skin everywhere it touches.

He kisses my inner thigh, slowly, hungrily, claiming me with his mouth. I gasp, fingers threading into his hair. His breath is warm, and the anticipation almost too much to hold inside my ribs.

“God, look at you,” he says, voice low and full with want as his thumb brushes my clit. I gasp. “My fiancée.”

My whole body lights up at the words, and at his touch.

When he finally settles between my legs, hands gripping my thighs hard enough to leave bruises, I watch his face as he lowers his mouth to me. When his tongue finds me, I cry out.

The way he's looking at me is like I'm his, like he owns every part of me.

“Fuck, yes, George—” My head tips back. My fingers tighten in his hair, pulling.

“Say it,” he murmurs against me, the vibration sending another jolt through me. “Let the whole house hear you. Let everyone know who you belong to.”

“Oh, God. Fuck— you… I belong to you⁠—”

His tongue traces my clit in firm, long strokes, then dips inside me, while his thumb circles above. The dual sensation is overwhelming. I can't think, and I can't breathe.

My hips rock against his face, and he lets me. His hands grip my thighs to anchor me, pulling me harder against his mouth, as I chase the pleasure building inside me, and I'm completely wrecked by the intensity of it.

“George, fuck, I'm so close⁠—”

He pulls back just enough to look at me. “I know, sweetheart. Keep riding my face, just like that.”

He lowers his head again, and this time, I don’t stop. I keep rocking my hips, and I can feel his tongue everywhere at once. When his teeth graze my clit softly, it's the final push.

The orgasm hits, and it rushes through me in a sharp, overwhelming wave. My entire body arches off the kitchen counter, and my legs tremble around his head. His hands hold me steady while I fall apart for him, completely undone.

“That's my fiancée,” he murmurs, still working me through it, enjoying every last pulse of pleasure from my body.

When I finally come down, gasping and shattered, he rises slowly, kissing my stomach, my ribs, my breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, through the fabric, biting gently, and I whimper at the sensitivity.

“I love you,” I whisper, and the words feel inadequate for what I'm feeling.

“I love you too,” he says, and presses his forehead to mine. Both of us are breathless, leaning into each other like gravity works differently now. Like the world has shifted and reset around us.

I can feel his cock is hard against my thigh through his sweatpants. I can feel the heat and weight of him there, but he's not rushing. He's just holding me, letting me come back to myself, his hand stroking my hair gently.

“Fuck, you're perfect, I can’t believe you are mine,” he says as he lowers his pants, freeing himself and positioning himself at my entrance, teasing me.

I'm still trembling when he pushes inside slowly.

I gasp at the stretch of him filling me. For a moment, he just stays there, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed against mine. He kisses me, and I kiss him back with everything I have, my fingers digging into his shoulders, his neck, anchoring myself to him as he slides into me. His tongue tastes like me, like us, and I'm completely lost in the sensation of him.