Infinity Times Infinity- The Finish Line

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Mikaela's POV

The first week of January felt like the quiet after a storm. Christmas chaos had faded, the New Year's glitter had been swept up, and for the first time in weeks, the house was just... ours.

My parents were in and out constantly that month, making the move from Louisiana official.

Ryan was back in training mode; locked in, focused, and all business. Daytona was just over a month away, and the weight of it showed in every move he made. He'd never won the 500. He'd come heartbreakingly close a few times, but the big one had always slipped just out of reach.

This year, it was personal. The man was a machine. Meal prepping like it was a religion, cutting carbs and sugar with ruthless precision, sticking to lean proteins and vegetables as if his fire suit depended on it. The kitchen counter looked like a health nut's dream: rows of grilled chicken, measured cups of brown rice, and a rainbow of steamed veggies that smelled like penance.

Even his mornings had changed. Before the sun was up, I'd hear the low hum of his workout playlist thumping from the home gym, the rhythmic pounding of the treadmill, and his soft, focused grunts between sets of weights.

But all that discipline had one fatal weakness: me.

I stood at the counter in one of his T-shirts, bump pressing lightly against the fabric, holding a slice of king cake like it was the holy scripture.

"Did you just call grilled chicken, brown rice and lettuce exciting?" I asked, raising a brow.

Ryan glanced up from the container he was filling, smirking. "It's fuel, babe. Fuel wins races."

I bit into my king cake with exaggerated bliss. "And this is fuel for my sanity."

Despite his clean-eating crusade, I'd catch him looking at my food like it was the forbidden fruit.

The other night, I found him watching me dunk waffle fries into a bowl of mac and cheese with a stare that was half disgust, half pure longing.

"You want one," I'd teased, holding out a fry.

He'd glared, said no, then caved in less than ten seconds. One bite later, he groaned like I'd ruined his soul.

Ryan was chasing the perfect race, the perfect form, the perfect mindset, but around me, all that discipline melted.

And I couldn't help but love it.

*****

"You okay, baby?" he asked one evening, finding me in the half completed nursery with my hand resting on the curve of my bump.

I nodded, though my throat felt tight. "Yeah. Just... sometimes I get hit with the reality of it all. We're going to be parents in a few months."

Ryan's arms wrapped around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Best title I'll ever have," he murmured. "Even better than champion."

*****

Later that night, I found myself curled on the couch with Libby asleep next to me. My hand instinctively went to my belly, feeling the subtle shifts and flutters that were getting stronger by the day.

"You're so loved already," I whispered, my voice catching. "You have no idea how lucky you are."

Ryan appeared in the doorway, towel around his shoulders after a late gym session. "Who's lucky?"

I smiled, blinking back tears. "Us. All of us."

He dropped the towel, crouched down in front of me, and pressed a kiss to my bump. "Damn right," he said softly.

*****

I hadn't been looking for him. I was just trying to find my phone charger. I swore I saw it in the laundry room yesterday, but it had since pulled a full Houdini, and I ended up following the faint beat of music pulsing from downstairs. Thought maybe Ryan had left the speaker on again.

Instead, I turned the corner into the home gym and promptly forgot what oxygen was.

He didn't see me at first. Too focused, too locked in. Back turned, black sleeveless shirt damp with sweat and clinging to his back like it was in love and didn't want to let go. His arms flexed as he pulled the bar down from the cable machine, slow and steady, his biceps and shoulders rippling like he'd been carved out of every good decision I'd ever made.

And don't even get me started on the low-slung athletic shorts or the subtle little grunt he made under his breath as he exhaled.

I had to bite my lip. Literally. I stood there, pregnant belly and all...absolutely feral, holding the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

"Jesus," I muttered to myself.

He must've heard that, because he dropped the bar and turned, swiping the back of his wrist across his forehead. "Hey, babe. Didn't hear you come down."

"Obviously," I said, still gripping the doorframe like it owed me emotional support. "What the hell is this?"

He blinked. "This?"

"You. The muscles. The sweat. The arms. The.." I gestured vaguely at all of him. "This...This is...this is illegal. You...what is even...did you gain more muscles while I was asleep?!"

He chuckled, grabbing his water bottle. "Pretty sure it's just me trying not to show up to Daytona with a dad bod. I mean... I might've been hitting the chest and arms a little harder than usual."

I stared. "Ryan, you are a dad. And if that's your version of out of shape, I think I need to reevaluate every food decision I've ever made."

He laughed harder, stepping closer. "Babe. I ate my body weight in mac and cheese and king cake over the holidays. I'm sweating out shame and powdered sugar."

"You're sweating out sex appeal," I muttered, still openly staring. "You look like an action figure. Like...like a cover model for Hot Dads Monthly. I'm calling someone. 9-1-1. Fire department. Somebody's gotta spray you down. You've been hiding this."

He raised a brow and stepped right into my space. "I wasn't hiding anything. You were just too busy eating fries and yelling at the Saints."

"Rude," I said, even as my hands slid up under the hem of his shirt. "Also accurate."

His eyes dipped to where my bump nudged against his abs. His voice dropped. "You wanna keep distracting me, or should I finish my set?"

I tugged at the waistband of his shorts just enough to make him swallow hard. "Finish it later. You're already warm."

His smirk went downright dangerous. "You tryin' to wreck me in my own gym, Mrs. McAllister?"

I kissed his throat. "Tryin'? Baby, I've already got you sweating."

Ryan's POV

She had no idea what that tone did to me. Or maybe she did...hell, Mikaela always knew.

One second, I was mid-workout; the next, her hands were sliding under my shirt, nails grazing my stomach like they owned me. Which, let's be honest, they absolutely did. Every inch of me was hers, and she knew it.

"You're not playing fair," I muttered, catching her wrist as she traced the line of my waistband. My voice sounded rough, low.

"Wasn't aware we were playing at all," she said, tilting her head back to meet my eyes, all innocent green fire and mischief.

"You're killing me, babe," I rasped. My forehead dropped to hers, sweat still dampening my skin as I fought for control. I had none. Not with her.

Her lips brushed my jaw, soft but purposeful, and I felt every nerve ending light up. "Good. I like watching you lose control."

That was it. With one swift motion, I backed her up against the mirrored wall, my hands bracing on either side of her head. Her breath hitched as my body pressed flush to hers, the bump between us making me both cautious and absolutely desperate.

"You know what happens when you say things like that?" I asked, my voice low and gritty against her ear.

She smirked, though her breath was unsteady. "You try to prove me right?"

"Oh, I don't try, baby.” My mouth found her neck, tasting sweat and skin, my hands sliding down to grip her thighs. "I succeed."

She gasped when I lifted her slightly, letting her legs wrap around my waist. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, clinging as I pressed her gently against the mirror, my movements careful but firm.

"Ryan..." It was a whisper, part warning, part plea.

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. "You okay?"

"Better than okay," she breathed, cupping my face with both hands. "But if you stop now, I will throw your water bottle across this room."

I laughed, low and dark. "You're insane."

"And you love it," she shot back, but her voice cracked into a sigh when my hands slid beneath her hoodie, finding warm, soft skin.

"You have no idea how much," I murmured, before claiming her mouth again; slow, deep, like I had all night to remind her exactly who she married.

Mikaela's POV

The mirror was cool against my back, but Ryan was all heat, every inch of him pressing into me like he couldn't decide whether to worship me or ruin me first. My legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, and the low sound he made in response went straight through me.

"You don't even know what you're doing to me right now," he muttered, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged.

"Pretty sure I do," I teased, though it came out more like a gasp when his hands slid higher beneath my hoodie, fingertips grazing over skin that was too sensitive, too ready for him. "And I like it."

His grin was dangerous, all slow burn and sharp edges. "Yeah? You like teasing me when I'm already a wreck?"

"Maybe," I whispered, dragging my nails down his chest, feeling the sweat-slick heat of him beneath his shirt.

Ryan exhaled hard, his control visibly fraying. "Careful, baby girl. You're about two seconds away from me losing it."

I tilted my hips just enough to test him, a teasing grind that made his hands flex against my thighs. "Maybe I want you to lose it," I murmured, lips brushing his ear.

That was it. He set me down only to turn me gently, pressing my front against the mirror, his hands splayed on either side of mine. "You sure you want this here?" he asked, voice deep and rough. "Because I'm not stopping once I start."

"Ryan," I breathed, glancing back over my shoulder. "I don't want you to stop."

The groan he let out was pure hunger. His mouth traced the line of my shoulder, teeth grazing softly as his hands slid over my hips, careful but firm. He hooked his fingers under the hem of my shorts, dragging them down slowly, teasing me until I was nearly trembling.

"You look so damn good like this," he whispered, his reflection meeting mine in the mirror. “Pregnant and still wrecking me without even trying."

"Ryan..." My voice broke on his name as his hand slid between my thighs, his touch making my knees go weak.

"I've got you," he said, catching my weight with his arm, his lips finding that sensitive spot behind my ear. "Always."

The mirror fogged with every ragged breath I took. My palms pressed against the cool glass, but Ryan's heat was everywhere; on my skin, in my blood, burning slow and steady until I thought I'd unravel.

He stood close behind me, one hand firm on my hip, the other sliding lower with deliberate patience. "You know what you do to me, Mikaela?" he murmured against my ear, his voice dark, husky, sending a shiver straight through me.

I barely managed a whisper. "Tell me."

His teeth grazed my earlobe, slow and teasing.

"You walk in here looking like that, and I forget every set, every rep, every damn thing except how much I want you."

I felt the slow drag of his fingers tracing along the curve of my thigh, inching higher. My legs trembled, but he caught my weight, pressing me gently into the mirror with his hips. "Ryan..." I gasped, my reflection looking back at me, flushed and already gone.

"You like this?" His lips skimmed the side of my neck, featherlight. "Like me wrecking you in my gym?"

"Yes," I breathed, shameless. "God, yes."

He chuckled, low and rough, his breath hot against my skin. "I'm not even close to wrecking you yet, baby."

Ryan's POV

The sight of her standing there in my hoodie, belly still fairly small but soft and round against the mirror, cheeks flushed nearly broke me. I'd never seen anything more beautiful. I slid my hand over her stomach, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "You good?"

She nodded, but the way her hips shifted back against me told me she wanted more. Needed more.

"Okay," I murmured, my hand trailing lower. "Then let me take care of you."

Her breath caught when my hand slipped between her thighs, my fingers finding her heat, slow and teasing. "Ryan," she moaned, her forehead pressing into the mirror.

"Yeah, baby?" I whispered, curling my fingers just enough to make her tremble. "That feel good?"

She nodded frantically, voice breaking. "So good. Don't stop."

"I'm not stopping," I promised, my free hand splaying over her belly like I could shield both of them. "I just want to take my time. Make sure you remember who you married."

Mikaela's POV

Time blurred. Every slow, deliberate movement of his hand sent another wave of heat through me. He alternated between teasing me and giving me just enough pressure to keep me begging.

"Ryan," I whimpered, arching into his touch.

He groaned softly, his forehead resting against the back of my neck. "You're so perfect like this. You know that? My perfect girl."

"Then don't make me wait," I gasped, grinding back against him.

His laugh was low, wrecked. "Bossy, huh?"

"Always. And horny.”

"Fine," he muttered, pulling back just long enough to push my shorts all the way down so I could kick them free and turn me slightly to face him. His blue eyes were dark, intense. "Come here."

I reached for him, and then he was kissing me hungry and deep, lifting me just enough that my legs wrapped around his waist again. He pressed me gently to the mirrored wall, his hands gripping me gently but firmly.

Ryan's POV

"God, Mikaela," I groaned as I slid into her, slow, careful, every inch of her warmth pulling me under. "Fuck. You feel like heaven."

She whimpered against my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders. "Ryan..."

"Yeah, baby?" I kissed her jaw, her cheek, her lips. "You okay?"

She nodded, but her voice cracked. "Don't you dare stop."

I smiled against her skin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

I set a slow, steady rhythm; deep, deliberate, like I had all night to worship her. Her back arched, her breath coming in short, broken gasps.

"That's it," I murmured, my hand brushing her belly as if to remind her and myself that this moment was all of us, together. "Take me. Just like that. My pretty girl."

Mikaela's POV

His words, his praise, his voice...it was too much and not enough. "Ryan... please..."

"What do you want, baby?" he whispered, his lips brushing my ear.

"You. Faster. Harder. You."

His growl was low, primal, as he picked up the pace, each thrust measured but stronger now, pulling sounds from me I couldn't control. I clung to him, lost in him.

"God, I love you," I gasped.

He pressed his forehead to mine, sweat-slick and desperate. "I love you more. Always."

When I finally broke apart in his arms, he caught me, whispering praise against my lips, his name tangled with mine as we both fell apart together.

By the time I caught my breath, I was pressed against Ryan's chest, my cheek against his damp shirt, his hand stroking slow circles on my back like I was made of glass. The mirror behind us was fogged, the air warm and heavy with the faint scent of his cologne and sweat.

"You okay, baby?" he murmured, kissing the top of my head. His voice was soft now, like the world had gone quiet for just us.

I nodded, though my legs were still shaky. "Better than okay. You... you might have to carry me upstairs though."

He chuckled, low and warm, lifting me gently as if I weighed nothing. "Not the first time I've had to carry you after I ruined you, Mrs. McAllister."

"Cocky," I teased, my voice sleepy against his shoulder.

"Confident," he corrected, kissing my temple as he carried me into the bathroom.

By the time we got there, my legs were useless. My head rested on his shoulder, the damp cotton of his workout shirt warm against my cheek. He set me gently on the bathroom counter, his hands lingering at my hips like he wasn't ready to let go.

"You good?" he asked again, softer now. His voice had that low, post-chaos rasp that always made my stomach flip.

"Better than good," I murmured, brushing my thumb along his jaw. "But if you think I'm walking anywhere, you're insane."

His lips curved, a slow, knowing smirk. "Good thing I'm not done carrying you then."

I watched as he turned on the shower, steam starting to curl around us. The bathroom lights caught the sheen of sweat still glistening on his chest, making every line of him look like it had been carved just to torment me.

"You're staring," he teased, leaning between my knees.

"Yeah, well," I said, tugging lightly on the hem of his shirt, "you're giving me a lot to stare at."

He chuckled, shaking his head, but his eyes softened as he slid the hoodie off me. His fingers brushed over my stomach. "Come on, baby," he whispered, his voice all low heat. "Let me take care of you."

The water was warm when he guided me under the spray, his hands steady at my waist. I let out a soft sigh, my head tipping back as he reached around me to grab the body wash, squeezing some into his palm.

"Turn around," Ryan said, voice low but not demanding, more like a quiet plea.

I obeyed, resting my hands against the tiled wall. The first drag of his hands along my back had me shivering. He took his time, slow circles with slick, soapy hands, moving from my shoulders down my spine, over every curve.

"You don't have to..." I started, breathless.

"Yes, I do," he interrupted, his tone soft but firm. "Let me do this, Mikaela. Let me just... take care of you."

My chest ached in the best way. He wasn't rushing. Not like earlier. Every movement of his hands was worshipful, almost like an apology and a promise all at once. He traced my hips, the swell of my stomach, the underside of my breasts, each touch slow and gentle like I was the most precious thing he'd ever held.

"Ryan..." I whispered, my throat tightening.

"Yeah, baby?"

"You're... you're making me feel like..." My voice trailed off because words weren't enough.

"Like what?" His lips brushed the back of my neck, his breath warm against wet skin.

"Like I'm not just..." I swallowed hard. "Pregnant and bloated and..."

He spun me around so fast I barely had time to gasp. His hands framed my face, blue eyes fierce and tender all at once. "Don't you ever talk about my girl like that. You hear me? You're not bloated. You're beautiful. You're carrying our baby, and I've never...never seen anything sexier than you right now."

My eyes stung, the words hitting me harder than I expected. "Ryan..."

"Shh," he whispered, kissing me. Slow. Soft. Like I was something fragile and untouchable. "I'm gonna prove it to you. Right here."

He kissed his way down my neck, over my collarbone, his hands sliding along my curves with maddening patience. The shower spray hit my back as he sank to his knees in front of me, looking up with that dark, unshakable focus that always wrecked me.

"Let me worship my wife," he murmured, his voice soft.

My knees nearly buckled when he pressed a kiss to my stomach, his hands stroking up my thighs. Every kiss was slow, unhurried, like he wanted to memorize me all over again.

When his mouth finally replaced his hands, I let out a broken sound, one hand bracing against the tile while the other tangled in his wet hair.

"Ryan..." My voice cracked, too much and not enough.

"I've got you," he whispered between kisses, his tongue moving slow and deliberate, teasing me until I was trembling. "I always got you, baby."

The build was slow this time. No rush, no frenzy. Just steady worship until I was unraveling under his mouth, whimpering his name like it was a prayer.

By the time he rose back up, my body was shaking, my breath shallow. He kissed me deep, tasting every sound I'd made, his hands still steady and warm on my hips.

"You okay?" he asked again, that post-storm softness back in his voice.

I smiled weakly, leaning my forehead against his. "You keep asking that like I'm not completely ruined in the best way possible."

His grin was slow and satisfied. "Good. Then let's finish washing up before I have to ruin you again."

Ryan wrapped me in one of the big fluffy towels, the kind we always fought over because it was the "good" one, and pressed a kiss to my temple like I was the most fragile thing in the world. He didn't even bother drying himself off first, just toweled me down slowly, his hands lingering on every curve, every inch of warm, damp skin.

"You're staring again," I murmured as his thumb traced a drop of water along my collarbone.

"Damn right I am," he said, voice low and rough, like gravel and heat. "I can't not."

"Smooth," I teased, but my voice broke when his hands slid down my sides, slow and deliberate.

"Not trying to be smooth, baby, Just honest."

When I was dry, he scooped me up like I weighed nothing, carrying me straight into the bedroom. He laid me down, leaning over me with that dangerous softness that always made my heart ache.

"You're looking at me like that again," I whispered, because I didn't know what else to do under that gaze.

"Like what?" He brushed damp hair from my face.

"Like I'm... everything."

He smiled, slow and devastating. "Because you are."

He took his time. God, did he take his time.

His lips started at my neck, trailing heat and softness down to my collarbone. My towel slipped away under his hands, and he followed the line of my body like he had nowhere else to be. Over my chest, my ribs, my stomach, his touch lingered there, warm and soft, as if he was silently thanking every inch of me for carrying our baby.

"You're perfect," he murmured against my skin. "Every damn part of you."

"Ryan..." My voice was already wrecked, just from that.

"Shh," he whispered, kissing the swell of my stomach, his palm splayed protectively over me.

"You have no idea what you do to me, Mikaela. I look at you, and I swear to God I forget how to breathe."

I was gone. Absolutely undone. Finished.

When his mouth found me; slow and teasing, I let out a sound that wasn't even human. He kissed me there like he had all night to prove every word he'd said, his hands holding my thighs like they were fragile but his mouth completely wrecking me in the softest, dirtiest way possible.

"You taste like heaven," he rasped, glancing up at me with those deep blue eyes that made me feel everything all at once.

"Ryan..." My hands gripped the sheets, trembling.

"Yeah, baby?" He smirked against me, slow and deliberate.

"Don't...don't stop."

"I wouldn't dare."

By the time I shattered, crying out his name, he was there, catching me, kissing me like I was the only thing he'd ever want. He crawled over me, settling between my thighs, and I felt the weight and warmth of him, the steady press of his forehead against mine.

"You ready for me?" he asked, voice low and wrecked.

"Yes," I whispered, breathless. "God, yes."

The first slow slide of him inside me made me gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. He kissed me through it, his lips soft against mine, his hips rolling with deliberate patience.

"That's it," he whispered, like he was talking to both of us. "Take me, baby. Just like that. My perfect girl."

Every word of praise left me shaking, needing, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded. His pace was unhurried, deep and steady, every thrust designed to make me feel everything.

"Ryan..." I whimpered, lost in it.

"Yeah, baby?" His hand cradled my face, thumb brushing my cheek. "You like that?"

"Yes," I gasped. "More. Please."

"God, I love when you beg," he murmured, his rhythm picking up just enough to make me cry out. "You're mine. You hear me? Every inch of you...mine."

"Yes," I whispered, tears mixing with sweat as I held onto him. "Always yours."

When I broke apart beneath him, it was with his name on my lips, my voice raw and desperate. He followed, groaning into my neck, his body shaking with the force of it.

We stayed tangled, the room spinning and quiet except for our ragged breathing. His hand stroked lazy circles on my back, his lips brushing my hairline.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice soft now, gentle.

"Better than okay," I breathed, my cheek pressed to his chest. "You ruined me."

"Good," he said with a soft chuckle, kissing my temple. "Guess I'll have to carry you again."

I don't know how long I laid there, wrapped up in Ryan and our tangled sheets, but moving was absolutely not an option. My legs felt like they'd forgotten how to function. My heartbeat was still racing, my skin flushed and warm, and the only thing keeping me grounded was the slow, steady rhythm of his fingers brushing up and down my spine.

"You alive down there, Mrs. McAllister?" he teased, his voice low and still wrecked from earlier.

"Barely," I mumbled into his chest. "You turned my legs into spaghetti noodles. Like...overcooked, falling-apart noodles."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through me. "That's... an image."

I tipped my head back to look at him, too lazy to lift my hand from his chest. "You proud of yourself?"

"Always," he said without hesitation, that cocky grin flashing. "You look like I just won Daytona."

"Cocky," I muttered, though my smile gave me away.

"Confident," he corrected, kissing the tip of my nose. "And you love it."

A few minutes later, he slid out of bed with this unholy amount of energy for someone who just wrecked me twice. He tugged on a pair of sweatpants.

"Where are you going?" I asked, propping myself up on my elbows.

"Kitchen," he said, smirking. "I'm making my girl a snack before she chews through the mattress."

"I'm not that bad..." My stomach growled loudly enough to cut me off.

He grinned, wide and victorious. "Uh-huh. Be right back, sweetheart."

When he returned, I could've cried. He was carrying a tray with a bowl of fruit, a slice of leftover king cake, and a glass of cold chocolate milk.

"Saint," I said, reaching for the king cake first. "Absolute saint."

"Saint Ryan," he said with a wink. "Patron saint of snacks and ruining his wife in the middle of the day."

"Don't forget cocky," I teased with my mouth full.

"Confident," he corrected again, sitting on the edge of the bed and stealing a bite of fruit. "And starving, by the way. You didn't leave me much energy to make a full meal."

"You'll live," I said, nudging him with my foot.

After the food was gone, I curled back against him, my head on his chest and his hand instinctively resting over my bump. His thumb traced slow, absentminded circles over the curve of my stomach like he couldn't help himself.

"Hey, little one," he murmured, talking to the bump like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You hear that? Your mama's out here stealing all my strength... and all my snacks."

I laughed softly, closing my eyes.

"They're probably listening," I said. "Learning how sassy their daddy is."

"Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my hairline. "They're gonna know exactly how much I love their mama. Every day."

I bit my lip, tears prickling for no reason other than hormones and how much I loved this man. "Ryan..."

"Yeah, baby?"

"You're gonna be the best dad," I whispered.

He went quiet for a second, like the words hit deep. Then his arms tightened around me, and he kissed me soft and lingering, like a promise.

"Only because I've got the best girl to teach me how to love this big."

Ryan was quiet at first, just looking at me like he couldn't quite believe this was real. The early afternoon light spilled across the bed, catching the damp ends of my hair and the soft curve of my bump where the sheet had slipped down. His hand traced from my hip to my ribs, slow and gentle, like he was memorizing me all over again.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his voice still low and gravelly.

"Even with the king cake crumbs?" I teased, my lips curving in a lazy grin.

"Especially with the king cake crumbs," he said, brushing them away before leaning in to kiss me. It started soft, barely there, but deepened with every second, his tongue stroking mine until I was sighing into his mouth.

He took his time. Each kiss was slow and deliberate, his lips trailing down my neck, over my collarbone, lingering at my chest as his hands moved with unhurried patience. He treated every inch of me like something worth worshipping, like I was priceless treasure in his hands.

"You know what you do to me?" he whispered, kissing just above my belly button.

"Tell me," I breathed, already trembling.

"You make me forget everything else," he said, his lips brushing feather light over my bump, his hand splayed there like he was holding both of us close. "I look at you and nothing else matters. Not racing, not anything. Just you, Mikaela.."

When his mouth replaced his hands, I let out a soft, broken sound. He moved slowly, teasing me with lazy strokes of his tongue, murmuring praise between every kiss.

"Sweetest thing I've ever tasted," he rasped. "My perfect girl. You like this, sweetheart?"

"Yes," I whimpered, arching into him. "Ryan... please..."

His chuckle was dark but tender, his grip on my thighs tightening just enough to hold me steady.

"I've got you," he promised, voice low and rough. "I'll always have you."

By the time he moved back up to kiss me, I was shaking. He hovered over me, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing heavy.

"You ready for me?" he asked softly, one hand brushing my cheek.

"Always.” I whispered.

He slid into me slow...agonizingly slow, like he wanted me to feel every inch of him. His lips captured mine in a kiss that was almost too tender, his hips rolling in a rhythm that felt like worship.

"That's it," he murmured, brushing his thumb along my jaw. "Take me, baby. Just like that. My beautiful girl."

"Ryan..." My voice broke on his name, nails curling into his shoulders.

"You feel so good," he whispered, his pace deep and unhurried, every thrust deliberate. "You're perfect. You know that? Absolutely perfect."

The praise pushed me over the edge. I shattered beneath him, his name slipping from my lips like a prayer. He followed soon after, groaning into my neck, his arms wrapping around me like he couldn't hold me close enough.

For a moment, the world was still, just us, tangled and breathless.

"Sweetheart," he whispered after a long stretch of silence, brushing his lips over my temple. "Too much?”

I let out a shaky laugh. "I'm... gone. Completely gone."

"Good," he said with a slow, smug smile. "Guess I'll have to keep you here all day then."