I want everything

Eli didn’t hesitate.

His breath hitched once—but then he looked at her, really looked, and something deep behind his eyes finally uncoiled.

“I want everything,” he said, voice rough with emotion and hunger and something almost defiant.

“I want you.”

His hands came up slowly—almost reverently—and settled on her waist. His fingers curled into the soft skin there, thumbs brushing the edge of her garter belt. He seemed like he was still making sure she was real.

“I want all of it,” he whispered. “I want you in every way you’re willing to give.”

Emily’s breath caught.

No one had looked at her like that in years.

She didn’t smile.

She just leaned in—and kissed him again, this time with all the heat she’d been holding back. His hands gripped her tighter, pulling her forward, and she slid into his lap like she’d always belonged there. Her thighs straddled his, bare skin brushing denim, her chest pressed against his hoodie, her nipples hard and aching against the soft cotton.

He groaned into her mouth. One hand tangled in her hair, the other splayed low on her back.

“You sure?” she whispered against his lips, voice trembling with something more than nerves now.

He nodded, eyes locked to hers.

“Then lie back,” she said.

Eli slid down into the cushions, body tense with anticipation, eyes never leaving hers as she followed him—slow, smooth, deliberate. Her thighs framed his hips as she straddled him, her hands braced on his chest, the heat between them building like a storm just about to break.

His hoodie bunched beneath her palms, warm from his skin, and she could feel his heartbeat pounding through it. She tugged the fabric upward. “Off,” she whispered.

He sat up just enough to yank it over his head, wincing slightly as the motion tugged at the bruise under his eye. She caught his face in her hands, soft again now, and kissed just beside the swollen skin.

“I hate that they did this to you,” she murmured.

Eli’s breath caught, but he said nothing—just reached for her hips again, fingers flexing around her curves, as if he needed to hold her down or he might float away.

She sat back, upright on his lap, her posture a perfect frame of contrast—bare breasts, garter belt cinching her waist, stockings smoothing down toned thighs, black lace against flushed skin. He looked up at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Emily slowly rolled her hips once, testing how hard he was beneath her.

He was.

She smirked.

Then leaned forward again, hands bracing either side of his head, her hair spilling down over his shoulders as her lips found his neck. He shuddered when she kissed just under his jaw, then gasped when her teeth grazed his collarbone.

“Tell me,” she breathed. “Everything you want.”

“I want to see you. All of you. I want to touch you. Taste you. I want—” his breath hitched “—to make you forget your husband exists.”

Emily closed her eyes and groaned.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because right now… he doesn’t.”