22. Amelia

Amelia (Willow by Taylor Swift)

Everett's eyes lock on mine. That smirk tugs at his lips—that smirk—but he obeys, sinking onto the edge of the bed, his gaze dragging down my entire body. Head. Shoulders. The swell of my breasts, where my nipples have already tightened into hard peaks, shamelessly visible through the lace. Down the dip of my waist, the curve of my hips, my bare thighs.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, settling his hands behind him on the bed.

I catwalk to him in a slow and deliberate manner, and settle on my knees between his legs. I unzip his shorts and free him, my fingers tracing the hot, hard length of him lazily.

He exhales sharply, abs tightening beneath the singlet. "You're killing me."

I smile innocently, pressing a soft kiss to his thigh. "Patience, Cap." He groans.

My thumb brushes over him slowly and his head tips back, a hiss slipping through his teeth. His hands twitch behind him and I can tell he's dying to grab me, to take control. But he doesn't. He lets me have this.

And God, I love it. I love him like this—undone, trembling, vulnerable. And I'm the only one who gets to see this side of Everett Griffin.

"Amelia…" My name on his lips is a warning and a plea all at once.

I rise, guiding him to the edge of the lacy fabric between my thighs. Our eyes meet—dark, burning, completely wrecked.

His hands finally abandon their post, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.

I sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch, and we both gasp.

"Shit—Heart…"

My forehead drops to his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his singlet. The stretch, the fullness, and the warmth of him steals every thought from my head. I bite my lip against the sound threatening to escape but he won't allow it. His hands slide up my back, pulling me flush against him, and his lips find my neck, kissing and sucking gently until my toes curl.

Then I start to move. I roll my hips in a slow rhythm that makes his grip tighten with every second, his breath stuttering against my skin. His restraint crumbles—he meets me halfway, thrust for roll, the party downstairs dissolving into nothing but a distant heartbeat under the sound of us.

"Look at me," he rasps.

I do. And the look in his eyes nearly ends me. He’s looking at me like I'm everything. Like I've always been everything.

"Everett—"

"I've got you," he murmurs against my lips. "I've got you, Heart."

He holds me through every shudder, every gasp, and every unraveling second, until we break together, clinging to each other in the dim light, our hearts hammering in sync.

For a long moment, there's nothing but our ragged breathing and the muffled music still shaking the floor beneath us.

He presses a lazy kiss to my damp temple. "We're missing our own party."

I laugh breathlessly against his neck. "Worth it."

"You feel so good, my Heart," he murmurs against my skin, voice rough and wrecked. "So fucking good."

I lift my head, capturing his lips. The kiss is messy, desperate, all tongue and breath, and soft whimpers swallowed between us.

The pace builds with his hips rising to meet mine, the sound of skin slapping skin blending with our muffled moans.

"Don't stop," I breathe.

"Not stopping, baby." He flips me onto my back in one fluid motion, hovering above me, his eyes blazing. "Not ever."

He thrusts deeper, harder, one hand pinning my wrist above my head while the other grips my thigh, angling me just right.

"Everett—" My back arches.

"I know." He kisses me again, swallowing my cry. "I know, baby. Let go for me."

And I do. Again.

The wave crashes through me violently, my body trembling beneath him as I clamp around him, whimpering his name into his mouth. He follows seconds later—burying himself deep with a guttural groan, his forehead dropping in the crook my shoulder.

We remain like that. Chest to chest. Breathing ragged. Hearts pounding in sync.

His thumb traces my cheekbone softly, and he smiles—that lazy, satisfied, him smile.

"Best celebration ever," he whispers.

I laugh breathlessly, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Told you I had something special."

He kisses me once more—slow, sweet, lingering.

Then the music from downstairs pulses through the floor, and I remember there's a whole party happening without us.

"Think they noticed we left?" I murmur.

He grins. "Don't care."

And somehow, that makes my heart fuller than any volleyball win ever could.