Ethan’s mouth meets mine like he’s been starving for it. The kiss starts slow, almost reverent—soft presses of lips that quickly turn hungry. His hand slides into my hair, gripping just tight enough to tilt my head as his tongue sweeps in, tasting me like he’s trying to memorize every detail after weeks apart. I groan into his mouth, the sound raw and needy, and press closer until I’m practically in his lap on the couch.
“f**k, Noah,” he breathes against my lips when we finally break for air. His voice is wrecked already, low and rough. “I need you.”
“You have me.” I bite his bottom lip gently, then soothe it with my tongue. “Right here. All of you.”
We don’t make it to the bedroom. The couch has seen too many of our important moments already—this one feels right.
Clothes come off in a
