My chest tightens as heat blooms through me, soft yet powerful. “I know,” I whisper. “Now show me.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
He closes the space between us and kisses me hard. His hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. When hismouth moves against mine, I feel it in my stomach first. The sweet ache of anticipation.
I make a soft sound into his mouth, and his grip tightens. He breaks the kiss only to press his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
“You have no idea,” he whispers.
“I do,” I breathe back. “I’ve been thinking about it since you looked at me in that yard.”
Tiny growls low in his throat, and the sound sends a shiver straight through me. He slides his hands down my body, slow and deliberate, taking his time like he wants to memorize every inch. His palms skim my waist, my hips, the curve of my ass, and when he squeezes, firm and possessive, it is not playful. It’s a promise.
“I’m gonna make you feel it,” he says, voice thick. “Every word we said out there.”
“Yes,” I whisper instantly.
Tiny’s eyes flash. He hooks his fingers in the hem of my dress and lifts it over my head. His gaze drags over me like he’s starving, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, and the devotion in his expression makes my throat tighten.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice quiet now.
I step closer, pressing my body against his. “So are you.”
Tiny exhales, then he starts undressing too. He pulls off his cut first and hangs it with care.
When his shirt falls, I see him fully. Every scar. Every mark of violence and survival. The old, jagged one near his ribs. The faint line over his shoulder. The thick, pale scar across his bicep I have traced a hundred times in the dark.
He watches my eyes as if he expects me to look away, but I don’t. I lift my hands and touch him, palms smoothing over ink and scar tissue alike.
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper.
Tiny’s jaw clenches hard. “Never said I was.”
“Yes, you did,” I murmur, stepping closer until my body is flush against his. “Not out loud, but you’ve carried it like a confession.” His hands go to my hips again, gripping tight. I rise onto my toes and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his throat, where his pulse pounds. “Tonight, you don’t get to carry that. Tonight, you get to be loved.”
Tiny’s breath shudders. Then his hands slide under me, lifting me and setting me back on the edge of the bed with a control that makes my whole body tighten with want. He steps between my thighs, hands braced on either side of me, towering, powerful, lethal.
Mine.
His gaze pins me. “You want me?”
I laugh softly, breathless already. “Tiny, I’m married to you. What do you think?”
He drops his forehead to mine. Then he kisses me again, slower this time, deeper. His mouth moves over mine like he knows exactly how to undo me, exactly how to draw the soft sounds from me that make him lose control.
His hands slide down my thighs, and he spreads me gently yet firmly. I grip his shoulders, my nails pressing into his skin, and Tiny groans in pleasure.
“Tonight is ours,” he says. “Nothing chasing us. Nothing taking from us.”
My chest aches at the truth in it.
Tiny kneels between my legs, and the sight of him like this makes my stomach flip. A giant on his knees. His hands grip my thighs with care, spreading me wider, and he looks up at me with eyes dark and burning.
He’s not asking. He’s promising.
Tiny’s mouth touches my body, and everything erupts into sensation, heat, pleasure, worship.
Tiny moves his tongue slowly at first, almost maddeningly, as if savoring every reaction. His hands hold me steady as his mouth moves with deliberate skill, and I can’t stop the sounds that spill from me.