She opened her arms. “Come here, love.”
I crossed the room, climbed onto the king bed, and lowered myself on top of her. She moaned and closed her arms around my neck, arching her back seductively. Trailing my fingers down her side, toward her hip, I kissed her. Her tongue tangled with mine, fighting for control before she gave it to me.
I moaned and deepened the kiss, wedging myself between her legs. Breaking the kiss off, I whispered, “I love you, Ginger.”
She smiled up at me, tracing her fingers over my faded scar. “I love you, too.”
Unable to resist her when she looked so f**king hot, I kissed her again. I never could resist her, and never would be able to for as long as I lived...because she loved me—and needed me—just as much as I needed her.
Imagine that.