His eyes flared with amusement, but the rest of him was tense. “No one who came before mattered as much as you do.”

I swallowed, knowing there was at least one and hating myself for letting her into this moment.

He brushed a soft kiss on my lips, as if he read my thoughts. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I don’t want to just possess your body right now. I want your fucking soul, Morgan.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re mine, too?” The pressure of him at my core made me adjust my hips slightly, taking him inside me just the slightest inch.

There was that jaw pop again, but his eyes were still tender. “You already own my soul. I’m yours.”

My heart threatened to explode; the ache was that sweet and strong.

“I want this,” I assured him, hooking an ankle over his back. “I want you, Jackson.”

He kissed me hard and rolled his hips, filling me with one long thrust. We both cried out. There was a slight burn as my muscles stretched to accommodate him, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of having him inside me.

His mouth tensed over mine, and his eyes squeezed shut so tight that he looked like he was in pain as he fought for control. One breath. Two. Three. Four passed before his gaze met mine. His pupils were blown, and his muscles were tight under my fingers.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned. “Are you okay?”

“God, yes.” I clenched my core instinctively.

“Good.” His mouth took mine as he pulled back and pushed in again, which had us both groaning. “I’m going to live here. Right here,” he promised, then set a rhythm with hard, slow thrusts.

Every stroke felt like a higher degree of heaven.

We moved together like this was our hundredth time, not our first. It was effortless and so damned good each time I met his hips with mine that I craved him in the seconds between, when he wasn’t deep inside me. He never faltered, never slowed, never shortened his strokes. The man used his body like a machine to draw every ounce of pleasure possible from my flesh. My nails dug into his back as sweat beaded on our skin.

My breath caught and my eyes widened as I felt that same tight pleasure spiral deep within me. Oh God, was I really going to come again? Was it possible?

“Jackson,” I whimpered.

“God, Morgan.” He cradled the back of my head with one hand, pushed my knee higher with the other, and slid even deeper, changing our angle.

Tight. Everything was tight. My skin, my muscles, my very bones stiffened as my cries came in time with his thrusts.

He slid his hand down my thigh and slipped his thumb between us, then worked my clit at an alternating rhythm.