“I do,” Steve replies with a hint of seriousness, and no small amount of adoration. He spent so long trying to fit himself into a mold, to be who he was expected to be, and it was exhausting. He loves that Maeve is so unapologetically herself. It’s something he respects, and if he’s honest, it makes him feel good, too.

Maeve does what Maeve wants to do, and she wants to be with him. How incredible is that?

When Maeve sits up, Steve’s hands go to her thighs, squeezing as she positions herself just right on his lap and rocks her hips, pressing her cunt down against the bulge of his cock through far too many layers of fabric.

Steve grunts and rocks up to meet her the next time, staring up at her face, the spill of her dark hair, the pale freckles on her shoulders that he only knows are there because he’s gotten close enough to see them.

His gaze dips to her her breasts, full and round with perfect pink nipples that are just begging to be kissed. One hand slides up her side, twisting to cup one of her breasts. They rock together again as he catches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging playfully before giving it a hard pinch because he knows it’ll turn her on even more.

“I am so fucking lucky,” he breathes out, sounding awed by the sight of her. Whatever drug he was given has long worn off but he still feels dumbstruck, head over heels in love. That’s just because of her. “You’re so beautiful.”