Whatever came next, whatever impossible decisions waited for me in the cold light of morning, I needed this. Needed him. Needed to memorize the sensation of his kiss, the way his hands mapped my body, the heat that bloomed wherever he touched.
Just once more.
His mouth tasted of mint and memories, of coffee from the firehouse and something uniquely Diego that I’d never been able to forget. I wanted to drown in it, in him, in this moment that felt both stolen and inevitable. The stubble on his jaw scraped deliciously against my palms as I cupped his face, my thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones. He groaned again, a low rumble in his chest that sent shivers cascading down my spine and pooling as heat between my thighs.
I broke away long enough to whisper, “Bedroom.”
He hesitated, his breath ragged. “Gill, are you sure?”
In answer, I slid my hands down his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle through his shirt. I grasped the hem andtugged upward. He raised his arms, letting me strip the fabric away, baring his torso.
My gaze drifted over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs. There were new scars, small puckers of skin that hadn’t been there before. Reminders of the life he’d lived without me. I leaned in, pressing my lips to each one, as his heartbeat pounded beneath my touch.
His hands found my waist, thumbs tracing circles on my hipbones. I could feel his restraint, the tension in his grip as he held back. Waiting for me to lead.
I took his hand, stepping backward toward the hall. His fingers laced with mine, gripping tight as he pivoted to take the lead. This wasn’t where he’d lived when we’d been together before. The apartment was bigger, nicer, neater in a way that showed he was no longer the young, confirmed bachelor. But I wasn’t here for the decor. I only had eyes for him as he pulled me into his room.
The room smelled like him—clean laundry and that cedar aftershave he’d always worn. Late evening sunlight filtered through half-open blinds, casting stripes across a neatly made bed with dark sheets. Everything had its place: books stacked on the nightstand, fire department commendations framed on the wall, clothes folded on a chair instead of thrown across it like the Diego I’d known at twenty-two.
But what stopped me cold was the photo on his dresser.
Us. That last summer. My arms wrapped around him from behind as he sat on the tailgate of his truck, both of us laughing at something I couldn’t remember. Sun-kissed and young and completely oblivious to how soon it would end.
“You kept it.” The words came out strangled.
Diego followed my gaze, his hand tightening on mine. “Never could bring myself to put it away.”
Four years. Four years he’d kept our photo beside his bed while I’d buried mine in a box marked “College” in my Chicago apartment’s closet. A pang hit me, a sharp twist of nostalgia and regret.
“Diego—”
He turned me to face him, cutting off whatever inadequate thing I’d been about to say. His eyes searched mine in the dim light. “We don’t have to do this, Gill. If you’re not?—”
I silenced him with another kiss, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the press of my lips against his. Focusing on the man in front of me, his eyes dark with desire and love and memories all tangled together.
I reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. He covered my hands with his own, stilling my movements.
“Gill,” he murmured, voice rough. “Are you sure?—”
“I am.” I met his gaze, steady and sure. “I want you, Diego. I never stopped.”
Something in him snapped then, a dam breaking loose. His mouth crashed onto mine, hungry and fierce. I yanked open his belt, pushing his jeans down his hips. He kicked them off, hands reaching for me.
We tumbled onto the bed, a mess of limbs and desperate kisses. His weight pressed me into the mattress, somehow familiar and different. He was heavier now than he had been at twenty-four. A little broader. I arched against him, needing more. Needing everything.
He broke away to tug my shirt over my head, his eyes roving over me like a starving man. I unhooked my bra, letting it fall away. His breath caught, then his mouth was on me, hot and wet.
I gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. He lavished attention on each breast, sucking and nipping until I waswrithing beneath him. Then he moved lower, tracing a path of kisses down my stomach.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans, tugging them down along with my underwear. I kicked them off, baring myself completely. He paused, looking up at me from between my legs, eyes dark with lust and something deeper.
“You’re so beautiful, Gill,” he whispered.
Then his mouth was on me, and all thought fled. I cried out, hips bucking against his face. He gripped my thighs, holding me open as he devoured me. Tension coiled tight in my belly, building with each lick and suck.
When I came, it was with his name on my lips, body shaking with the whip of release. He rode it out with me, gentling his touches until I stilled.
Then he crawled up my body, settling between my thighs. He was hot and hard against me, but he didn’t rush. Instead, he brushed a strand of hair from my face, eyes searching mine.
