Then there was me, staring down at her in awe.
Love was plain to see on my face, and it was more than obvious that she was it for me.
She was my one and only.
I knew it then. I knew it now.
Today, I’d seen her for the first time in eight years.
Eight long, really sucky years.
But the moment that we’d walked back into each other’s lives? It was like nothing had changed. It was like only a night had passed instead of nearly three thousand days.
We’d dropped back into our roles so seamlessly that there was only one reason that we could do it so easily—we loved each other. No matter what.
No matter how much time had passed.
“This is blown up and has a place of honor on the wall in my bedroom,” she said. “I had it in my living room, but I spend most of my time in my bedroom. I get to see it way more in there.”
I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her.
She leaned her head back into my chest and we both stared at that photo.
“We need a newer, more updated one,” I declared. “I’m not saying that you’re not beautiful right there, but Jesus Christ. When I first saw you today? It took my breath away. You’ve turned into a stunningly beautiful woman, and I’m really kind of fuckin’ sad that I wasn’t there to see it.”
She turned in my arms, and I loosened my hold on her long enough for her to move.
When she came to a halt, it was with her head leaning back on my arms, and the front of her body pressed to the front of mine.
Like always, my dick was hard when I was around her.
But this time, it was really hard because it knew what it was about to get.
Her.
Her sucking me off in my buddy’s office had definitely taken the edge off of years of deprivation, but it wanted the real deal. Her pussy.
And it wouldn’t take a hand or a mouth for a substitute.
Not when it knew what it was missing.
“I need to take you to bed,” I told her bluntly.
She grinned wickedly at me.
“Show me to your room, Troup.”
It was so weird having someone call me by my given name.
I hadn’t gone by Troup in a very long time.
Aoki? Yes. State? Double yes. Troup or Trouper? Only her and Easton called me that now, and Easton usually leaned toward ‘bro.’
But God, nobody ever said my name like she did.
Taking a step back so that she could step around me, I guided her to my room with a hand on the small of her back.
The moment that we made it to the bedroom, her breath hitched.
“You still have our comforter,” she whispered softly.
That day after we’d spent the night under the stars on that blanket she’d purchased, a huge king-sized green flannel monstrosity, I’d packed it into a duffel bag and taken it home with me.
I’d used it every night since that I’d stayed in my own home.
After having been washed a hundred times, it was so soft that it felt like butter against my skin.
And sometimes, during the dark of night, I would pretend that it was Beckham’s body wrapped around me, her soft skin rubbing against mine instead of the comforter.
She looked at me with a huge smile and then disappeared into the bathroom.
Giving her some space to do her business, I walked over to the closet and slowly started to peel out of my clothes.
Once my dirty things were in the hamper, I walked over to the nightstand to plug in my phone out of habit and put my weapon underneath the mattress.
It was right after straightening up that she came back out.
My eyes took in her near naked state.
She walked in, her clothes in her hands, and walked straight to the trunk I had in the corner and turned, giving me a view of her thong-clad ass and bare back.
I was right about her hips.
They were sexy as hell, and when she bent over in front of me, in only her panties, I forgot how to think straight.
I didn’t think about the house being surrounded by other houses with every single window shade open in the living room, meaning anyone that was outside would be able to see in.
I didn’t think about much of anything but the need to get inside of her.
When she turned to me, bare breasts swaying slightly as she breathed roughly, I knew that this time would be different.
Both being adults now, each of us had changed a lot.
According to her, my penis had grown. Newsflash, it hadn’t. I just knew that her perception of things had changed. That she was now able to better analyze things.
Like I was.
But her breasts? They had grown. She’d filled out, taking away her teenage lines and filling out into womanly curves.
She was so utterly beautiful that it physically hurt to breathe.
I licked my lips and reached down to push off my underwear.
Her eyes went huge as my erection sprung free from the confines of my boxers.
“You have a tattoo!”
I did.
I’d been waiting for this moment for such a long time that it was honestly laughable that it was actually here.
She moved forward, her breasts jostling, and then bent down in front of my cock, eyes only inches away from the head.
“I can’t believe you have a tattoo!” she cried, straightening and placing her hand over her mouth.
I burst out laughing. “You were the one who told me I had to get it!”
Okay, so on a drunken night back when I’d first graduated from flight school, I’d thought it was the best idea ever, getting that tattoo.
It was small in the grand scheme of things. Three inches by two inches.
Keep Away.
Beckham’s only.
It was written right above the
