Liam answered without hesitation, mouth opening under his. His hands tightened on Jacob’s sides, gripping hard like he’d been starving for this. As if minutes apart had felt like days.
Jacob turned them around, pressing Liam into the trailer wall. One hand braced beside his head, while the other slipped beneath his shirt. He shouldn’t be doing this—not here, not now—but the feel of him, the taste of him, made the wordshouldn’tirrelevant.
Two sharp knocks shattered the moment.
They froze, breath mingling in the narrow space between them.
“Jacob?” Juno’s voice carried through the door. “Your driver’s here.”
Jacob closed his eyes for half a beat, teeth clenched. “Tell him two minutes.”
“I’ll let him know,” she said, tone dry enough to scrape. Her footsteps retreated, leaving a silence so taut it almost vibrated.
Liam didn’t step away. His breathing was unsteady, pupils blown wide, and lips red and swollen from Jacob’s mouth. He looked so unbearably beautiful it hurt.
Jacob let his hand trace the sharp line of Liam’s jaw, his thumb moving slowly as if to memorize the shape. “We’re out of time,” he said, though his body screamed for more.
Liam nodded slowly, but stayed exactly where he was.
Jacob’s palm found his waist again, fingers pressing in. He leaned forward and let his mouth graze Liam’s, gentler this time. A kiss that carried more weight than urgency, more tenderness than heat.
Then he stepped away, control settling back into place. “Go,” he said, his voice rougher than it should have been. “Before I lock the door and fuck you against the wall.”
Liam’s throat bobbed. He turned toward the door, but not before giving one last look over his shoulder. In that look, Jacobsaw exactly what he feared and wanted most: not regret or guilt, but hunger—and the gnawing frustration of not having enough time.
***
That evening, Jacob slid into bed and stared at the ceiling. Next to him, Caroline was curled on her side, the soft glow from her tablet painting her features in a blue light. Her face was calm—the kind of familiar that had once anchored him after long days, pulling him back into the easy gravity of home. Now it only made his skin itch, like a sweater worn too long in the heat.
She glanced over and smiled. “Everything okay?”
He nodded. “Yes. Just tired.”
She set the tablet on the nightstand and shifted closer until her palm rested on his chest. “Happy you’re home.”
He made a sound in his throat, something meant to pass for agreement.
She moved against him, shifting her weight as she slid her hand lower. He didn’t flinch, but didn’t lean into it either.
“You’re quiet,” she murmured, her fingertips brushing over his stomach, then dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. Her touch was confident, the kind that came from years of knowing his body.
He stayed soft. That never happened; he was always ready.
She kept stroking him, gentle and patient, like this was a reconnection—a way to close the distance after a week apart. He stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched so tight he could hear the faint pulse in his ears. His mind wasn’t here. His body wasn’t hers.
She pressed kisses to his shoulder and throat, whispering something tender that blurred before it reached his ears. The rhythm of her hand became firmer, more deliberate.
Eventually—inevitably—his body responded. His cock thickened in her hand, but there was no hunger, no fire in his veins. It was blood and nerve endings; a physical reaction, nothing more.
Caroline’s breath warmed his skin. “That better?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer. His body still hummed with memories of Liam—his voice in his ear, his weight beneath Jacob’s hands. Before coming to bed, he had showered until the water ran cold, but it hadn’t washed away what lingered deep beneath his skin.
She kissed along his jaw and swung a leg over his, heat pressing close until something in him snapped. His hand came up, steady but not unkind, and his voice followed, leaving no space for doubt. “Stop.”
Her hand stilled and she drew back slowly, eyes searching his face in the dim light. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t.”
