“Ember.” My name comes out gruff. A warning or encouragement; I can’t tell which.
I kiss him harder in response. Drag my nails down his back, feeling muscles tense and shift beneath my touch.
The fabric between us becomes unbearable. Too many layers. Too much distance.
We shed clothes with urgent movements. I’m careful of his injured shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to care. My borrowed pants kicked are aside until I’m wearing nothing but the flannel shirt, hanging open, barely covering anything.
He stares at me. Intently. His eyes trace from my face down my throat to where the shirt gapes, revealing skin I’ve never let anyone see.
“You’re—” He stops. Swallows hard. “You’re perfect.”
The words shouldn’t affect me. But they do. Because he says them like he means it. Like I’m not too young or too inexperienced or too much trouble.
He rises smoothly, his hands beneath my ass supporting me, my legs wrapped around his hips. We move toward the narrow cot against the wall. Refusing to break contact.
Luke lays me down on blankets that rasp my skin. Settles his weight over me. Careful not to crush, but close enough that I feel every inch of him against every inch of me.
His mouth finds my throat. Traces the line from my jaw to my collarbone. Teeth graze skin—not hard enough to hurt, but enough that electric sparks tingle all the way through me.
I trace my fingertips down his back. Track scars and muscle and the places that make him tense. There’s a mark below his left shoulder blade, raised tissue from some old injury. I draw my thumb across it lightly.
He shudders.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper.
“No.” His voice is wrecked. “Nothing hurts right now.”
His hand slides between my thighs. I freeze for half a second, surprise and want warring in my chest. I’m no chaste little virgin; I may have been sheltered, but not enough to completely stop me exploring. But this… this is nothing like those early experiments. This is… electric.
When he cups my mound, fingers sliding between the slick lips of my pussy, thought becomes impossible.
I’ve touched myself before. Late nights alone in my room when magic burned too hot and I needed release. But my own hand is nothing like this. Nothing like Luke’s fingers moving against me with sure, deliberate pressure that makes my whole body tighten.
“Luke—” His name breaks from my lips. Not a word so much as a sound.
He watches my face. Eyes dark and focused. Reading every reaction like it’s intelligence he needs to survive. When I gasp, he does it again. When I arch, he increases pressure.
“Tell me.” His mouth hovers over mine. “Tell me what you need.”
I can’t form words. Can only rock against his hand, chasing sensation that builds and builds until I’m shaking with it.
His other hand slides the flannel off my shoulders. Bares me completely. His mouth closes over my breast—hot and wet and perfect—and the combination of his mouth and his fingers sends me spiraling toward an edge I’ve never reached with another person. Certainly not those inexperienced boys.
Close. So close.
My fingers dig into his shoulders. “Luke… Oh, God… Yes!” The heat between my legs coils tighter, tighter—
I can’t think straight. Can’t think at all.
“I-I need… Need you. Inside…” My hands slide down his sides, reaching for the top of his pants.
And then he freezes.
Pulls back. Breathing ragged. “We have to stop.”
My eyes fly open. The world snaps back into focus, cool air on overheated skin, the loss of his touch, confusion flooding through the haze.
“What?” I’m breathing hard. “Why?”
