“I got you,” I murmured against her mouth, steadying myself on my forearm as she opened for me.
I slid in slowly, my eyes locked on hers, and for a moment neither of us moved. Just breathed together. She was tight and hot and perfect, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from coming right there like a fucking teenager.
After a few seconds, her legs wound around my hips, and she pressed her heels into my lower back to pull me deeper. When I bottomed out, she shivered. I rocked shallowly in and out of her, grinding my pelvis against her sensitive clit whenever our bodies met.
Her eyes fluttered open. “I need you to move,” she breathed against my mouth, her teeth grazing my bottom lip.
I withdrew slowly until just the tip remained, then sank back into her welcoming heat in one long slide with a long, harsh groan.
Her body bowed beneath me as I filled her completely.
I braced one hand next to her head, the other cupping her hip. Stella met me thrust for thrust, her nails digging into my back, not afraid to let me hear every sound she made. It was messy and raw. Nothing between us but skin and heat and months of wanting.
And it was even better than I remembered.
When I finally came, it was with the overwhelming feeling ofrightnessas I spilled inside her, hot and oh so deep. She clenched around me, taking everything I had, and the intimacy of it—no barriers, nothing between us—made me want to do it all over again.
I collapsed beside her, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. I could feel myself leaking out of her, and some primal part of my brain roared with satisfaction.
She turned her head to look at me, her eyes soft and sated, a lazy smile on her face. “So,” she said, her voice hoarse from exertion. “You staying?”
I pulled her against me, not caring that we were both a mess. “Just try and make me leave.”
three
. . .
STELLA
I was sanitizingmy equipment when the brewery’s side door unexpectedly opened. The electricity in the building went out early this morning, so I couldn’t open for business. But just because I was without power didn’t mean I couldn’t get caught up with some tasks on the working side of the brewery, where the magic actually happened.
Stainless steel tanks lined the far wall, fermentation vessels hummed (when we had power), and the air always smelled of hops and grain. But I’d also made the space cozy and inviting. A long plastic folding table served as my work station, and across from it was the zebra-print sofa I’d impulse-bought online at two o’clock in the morning one night that hadn’t fit through the doorway to my loft. An old Persian rug I’d scored at a thrift store covered the concrete floor, and a couple of mismatched chairs completed the space. It was where I preferred to spend my time(versus the tap room out front), and where the people I actually liked could hang out without being in the way.
“We’re closed,” I called out, not looking up from what I was doing. “But I’ve got a few growlers in the ice chest near the door. Sixteen dollars each. Leave the cash in the jar on the stand next to it.”
“But what if I want something with a bit more bite?”
My head snapped up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.
Cade stood just inside the door, looking like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet—literally. His hair was plastered to his head, his jacket soaked through at the shoulders, water still dripping onto the floor. There were dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there two nights ago. He looked exhausted and cold and still so stupidly handsome that I had to stop and take a moment to recalibrate.
“You look like shit,” I said, setting my scrub brush in the bucket and reaching for a towel to dry my hands off.
“Thanks, sweetheart. You’re a real confidence booster.” He peeled off his wet coat and hung it on the rack by the door before making his way back to where I was working. He brought the smell of the ocean with him—salt and cold air and something underneath that was simply Cade—as he dropped onto the sofa with a groan, sprawling out like he might never move again.
“Can I get a glass?” He lifted his chin to indicate the open growler at the edge of the table.
“What you need is a shower and a nap.” I draped the towel on a peg behind me to dry. “When’s the last time you slept?”
He squinted at the ceiling and hummed. “Um, what day is it again?”
“Cade.”
“I’m fine,” he argued, waving me off. “Just been a busy couple of days. The Graymalkin’s engine is fucking with meagain, and I’ve been out for hours each day hauling extra traps for the holiday rush.”
I should have told him to go home. Should have pointed him toward his truck and watched him drive away before I did something stupid like climb into his lap and fuck him into sweet, sweet oblivion.
Instead, I offered him a small pour of the honey wheat ale that was going into kegs next week.
