Page 240 of Override

"Tell me yes," I demand gently. "Tell me you're mine tonight."

"Yes," she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Yes, Keaton. Yours."

I slide the sweater up over her head, setting it aside, leaving her in just a soft lace bralette. I don't rush. My hands frame her waist, my thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs, counting each sharp intake of her breath. She is stunning. Every line of her body, every soft curve, is a masterpiece my mind has already memorized, but touching her in the flesh makes my pulse roar in my ears.

I lift her gently, setting her down in the center of the soft gray bedding she picked out.

I drop to my knees on the floor beside the mattress, bringing us eye-to-eye. I reach out and slide my glasses off my face, setting them on the nightstand. The world blurs around the edges, sharpening down until the only thing in my focus is her.

"You are so beautiful, Maeve," I whisper, my hands tracking down her thighs. "Every single piece of you."

My fingers hook into the waistband of her pants, slowly drawing them down her legs along with her underwear. I strip off my own clothes with precise, efficient movements, leaving nothing between us, before leaning over her on the bed.

I start at her ankles.

I press a slow, lingering kiss to the arch of her foot, then the soft skin behind her knee, moving up to the curve of her hip. She gasps, her fingers clutching at the gray sheets, her hips arching slightly at the slow, worshipful pace.

"Keaton—"

"Shh," I murmur against the skin of her stomach, pressing my lips to her belly button, feeling the rapid, frantic fluttering of her pulse beneath my mouth. "Let me look at you. Let me have this."

I move higher, unhooking her bralette and tossing it aside. I cup her breast in my hand, feeling the heavy, perfect weight of her, before taking her nipple into my mouth.

A sharp, broken sound tears out of her throat, her back arching off the mattress. "Keaton, please... I need you inside me."

"Not yet," I whisper against her skin, moving to the other side, giving her the same slow, agonizing attention until she is writhing beneath me, her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me up.

When I finally climb over her, settling between her bare thighs, her eyes are wide and completely blown out with desire. I rest my weight on my forearms, crowding into her space, my chest pressing flush against hers.

"Look at me, Maeve," I say, my voice thick and gravelly.

She locks her eyes onto mine, holding my gaze in the dim light.

"This is us," I whisper, my hands sliding under her hips, tilting her up to meet me. "Starting right here."

I push forward, slowly, deliberately sinking all the way into her until I am buried to the hip.

Maeve lets out a long, breathless cry, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me as deep as I can possibly go. My mind shatters completely. The quiet, profound peace of this room, of this woman, fills every empty corner of my chest.

I hold myself still inside her for a second, my forehead resting against hers, our breaths mingling in the dark.

"You okay?" I whisper, my voice low and thick.

"More than okay," she breathes, her hips shifting up into mine, pulling me deeper. "Don't stop, Keaton."

My brain goes completely silent, and then I begin to move.

Chapter 55

Maeve

Sometimes I still wake up expecting to forget. Not forget who I am. Forget that I'm allowed. Allowed to choose what I wear. Allowed to call my mother simply because I miss her.

Allowed to spend an entire Saturday wandering through bookstores with Rachel and Sloane before ending the afternoon on Rachel's back porch, laughing so hard at one of Wheels's stories that iced tea came out of my nose.

Healing isn't dramatic the way I'd imagined it would be. There wasn't a single morning where I opened my eyes and realized I wasn't afraid anymore.

Instead, it happened quietly. One ordinary day at a time.