"Rhett, I can't focus when you—"
I moved my hand higher, lightly brushing his dick through his jeans.
"Fuck." He glanced at me with his pupils slightly dilated. "Okay. Okay, fine. There's a pull-off in two kilometers."
When he finally pulled off—gravel turnout, trees on all sides—he killed the engine and looked at me.
"You're an asshole."
"Yeah."
He pulled me across the console. Kissed me hard enough that my head hit the window. He gripped my jaw, angling me where he wanted. When I tried to slow it down, he bit my lower lip.
"Don't." His voice was rough. "Don't make this polite."
I didn't.
I reached for his chest, kneading the muscle beneath his tightly-stretched henley. His hands were in my hair and cupping the back of my neck. When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"This is—we're thirty. We're too old for this."
"Are we?" I asked
Hog kissed me again. Slower this time, but no less intense. His hand slid under my shirt, palm flat against my ribs.
When we finally broke apart, I had swollen lips, and his hair stood up in multiple directions.
"Okay," he said. "Now I can drive."
The rest of the drive was forty minutes of torture. My hand on his thigh, his breath hitching every time I moved.
When he finally pulled up outside my building, he looked at me. "You're evil."
"Come upstairs and complain about it."
We barely made it through the door.
Hog's hands were under my shirt before we crossed the threshold. When we stepped inside, he backed me against the wall, mouth on my neck. His project bag hit the floor. Keys scattered.
"Rhett—"
"Yeah."
"I said—" He kissed me again. "I said I'd marry you."
"I know."
"To a seven-year-old."
"I know."
"That's—" He pulled back. Eyes wild. "That's insane. I don't—we haven't—"
I kissed him before he could finish the thought. Tasted panic and desire in equal measure. "Stop thinking."
"I can't. I can't stop—"
I pulled him toward the bedroom. He followed but kept talking.
