The Things We Leave Unfinished Yarros, Rebecca (reading like a writer .TXT) 📖

making his skin glow in the soft light of the bedside lamp. Restraint was evident in every rigid muscle as he braced his weight on his elbows, watching me for any sign of discomfort.

“I’m perfect,” I assured him, stroking his shoulders and circling my hips as the burn turned to bliss.

“That’s exactly how you feel.” He withdrew slightly, then thrust home with a groan. “God, Georgia. I’m never going to get enough of you.”

“More.”

He obliged. My toes curled as I whimpered, and I lifted my knees to take him deeper.

Then words became obsolete as our bodies took over, speaking for us in every way we needed. He took me slow and hard, driving into me in a ceaseless, aching rhythm that had me straining and arching beneath him, my nails biting into his skin as I gave myself over to the mind-blowing sensations he evoked.

As that pleasure gathered again, surprising me with its intensity, he adjusted his angle, sliding even deeper, rubbing over the most sensitive parts of me with every thrust, driving me higher and higher, until my body went rigid beneath his as I hovered on that precipice.

“Noah,” I whispered, my body locking.

“Yes,” he urged, swinging his hips faster.

I broke apart, calling his name as I came again, gripping him tight and taking him over with me as deeper, stronger swells raced through my body, consuming me—remaking me into something entirely new, entirely his.

“Georgia,” he groaned into my neck, and I decided that was exactly how I wanted to hear him say my name from that moment on.

This…this was life. This was exactly how making love was supposed to feel, and I’d missed out on it up until now. I’d settled for so much less, not knowing that this kind of need had existed—that Noah existed.

He rolled us sideways, holding me close as we recovered, our breaths as unsteady as our heartbeats, but those eyes of his were rock solid on mine, lit with the same joy coursing through my own veins.

“Wow,” I managed to say between breaths, my fingers lightly skimming over his cheek and across the light rasp of his beard. How did this man just get better looking?

“Wow,” he echoed, a grin shaping his lips.

My heart beat wildly, and yet I felt better than I had…ever. Happy. I was happy. Not that I was naive enough to think this would last forever. He didn’t even live here. That silly glow throbbing in my heart was the result of two knee-melting orgasms, not… Don’t even think the word. Liking Noah was one thing; falling for him was quite another.

But then my brain played back the sound of him groaning my name into my neck, and I was a goner, not just falling but plummeting into an emotion I wasn’t ready to deal with, let alone name.

“The way I see it, we have two choices,” he said, brushing my hair back with so much tenderness that a lump formed in my throat. “I can head back to my place…”

“Or?” I trailed a finger down his chest. I liked him just where he was.

“Or we ride out the snowstorm together right here in this bed.” He brushed a tantalizing kiss over my lips.

“I’ll take option number two,” I answered with a smile. No matter where this eventually led, I had him for now, and I wasn’t wasting another second.

Chapter Twenty-Two

December 1941

North Weald, England

“Right now would be great,” Jameson said to her belly, down on his knees in front of her in full uniform. “Because right now, I’m here. And I know you want me to be here when you’re born, right?”

Scarlett rolled her eyes but ran her fingers through Jameson’s hair. Every day he had the same one-sided conversation with their baby—who was about a week overdue by the midwife’s estimate.

“But once I leave, it’s really hard to get back quickly,” he explained, his hands soft on either side of her stomach. “So what do you say? You want to meet the world today?”

Scarlett watched the hope on Jameson’s face fade to frustration and stifled a smile.

“She’s definitely a girl,” he said, looking up at her. “Stubborn like her mother.” He pressed a kiss to her belly, then stood.

“He’s a boy who loves to sleep in, just like his father,” she argued, but looped her arms around Jameson’s neck.

“I don’t want to go today,” he admitted quietly. “What if she’s born and I’m not here?” He laced his fingers at the small of her back, which was no small task considering how she was currently shaped.

“You’ve said the same thing for the last month. There’s no guarantee it will happen today, and if it does, then you’ll come home to a son. It’s not like someone will steal him if you’re not in the house when he arrives.” Jameson had gone so far as to demand he be in the room with her, but that certainly wasn’t going to happen. Though she had to admit, the thought of having him with her was more than comforting.

“That’s not even funny to joke about,” he deadpanned.

“Go to work. We’ll be here when you get back,” she urged, hiding her very real fear that he was right. Jameson needed his full wits when flying. Anything less would get him killed. “I’m serious. Get going.”

He sighed. “Okay. I love you.”

“And I love you,” she replied, her gaze skittering over his face just like it did every day, memorizing him…just in case.

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, as if he wasn’t already running late. As if he wasn’t about to fly off into some yet-unknown battle, or perhaps escort bombers on a raid. He kissed her as if he would do it a thousand times again, with no hint that this might be their last.

It was the way he kissed her every morning—or night—before he left for the hangar.

She melted, her grip tightening on his neck as she pulled him closer, kissed him for just a minute longer. It was always one more minute