"Harder," she breathes. "Don't hold back."
I don't. I drive into her with everything I have. She takes it all. Gives it back. Her inner muscles clench around me and she cries out. The sound shoots straight through me.
My hand slides between us. Finds where we're joined. She gasps when I touch her, hips jerking.
"Right there," she moans. "Don't stop."
I keep the pressure steady, the rhythm deep. Watch her face as pleasure builds. She's gorgeous like this. Undone and wanting and completely mine.
"Rhys, I'm going to?—"
"Let go. I want to feel you."
She shatters. Her whole body tightens around me. She cries out my name, nails raking down my back. The sensation drags me over with her. I bury myself deep and let go. Everything narrowing to this moment. This woman. This feeling of finally being home.
After, she sprawls across my chest, one leg hooked over mine. Her hair tickles my shoulder. My hand traces lazy patterns on her bare back.
"That was..." she starts, then laughs softly. "I don't have words."
"Yeah. Same."
She presses a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "We're really doing this. Building a life together."
"We are."
"Good." She settles deeper against me. "Because I'm not letting you go."
"Wasn't planning on going anywhere."
We fall asleep like that. Wrapped around each other. The storm raging outside while we stay warm and safe inside.
I wake sometime in the night. The fire has burned low. Snow taps against the window. Harlow sleeps beside me, one arm thrown across my chest. Her breathing is slow and even.
Emma's ring is still in my jeans pocket on the floor. Tomorrow I'll put it somewhere safe. Keep it as memory, not burden.
The wind picks up outside. Something metal bangs against the cabin. Once. Twice. Then a different sound. Deliberate. Rhythmic.
Knocking.
Someone is knocking on my cabin door in the middle of a blizzard.
I slip out of bed. Harlow wakes instantly, hand already reaching for her weapon on the nightstand. Former FBI instincts sharp even half-asleep.
"Stay here," I whisper.
I pull on jeans and grab my sidearm from the holster hanging on the chair. Move through the dark cabin toward the front door. The knocking comes again. Patient. Insistent.
Through the window beside the door, a figure hunches against the storm. Covered in snow. Barely visible in the darkness.
I unlock the door. Open it a crack. Wind drives snow into my face.
The figure looks up.
"Sheriff Blackwater," a woman's voice says. Russian accent thick despite near-hypothermia. "My name is Katerina Volkov. I'm Sergei's daughter. And I need your help before they kill me."
14
HARLOW
