The Brit

“Missing you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on my lips. “It was fucking agony being without you. Not seeing you.” He searches my eyes. “Feeling you.” His hand drifts between our bodies, cupping me between my thighs. My breath hitches, and he smiles. “Hearing you. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

My smile matches his, and with my hands in his hair, I nuzzle his scarred cheek, my eyes closing, my sense of smell taking a hit of his familiar scent. “I hate you so much.”

He breathes in and lets out the air on a long sigh. “I love you too.”