“Briar…” I choke out.
She lifts my shirt higher, tugging it up in her fists, palms flattening against my stomach, warm and shaking and curious. My hips slam into hers. I don’t mean to. It just happens. Instinct. Need.
She gasps, gripping me harder.
“Inside,” she whispers, voice barely a breath. “I want you alone?—”
I grab her hips, lifting her slightly, pressing her fully against me.
Her legs almost wrap around me before she catches herself on my shoulders. I kiss her again—hard, long, devastating—hands sliding down to the top of her thighs, dragging her tight against my body. Her shirt shifts under my hands, riding up, exposing skin that feels like fire beneath my palms. She moans into my mouth.
I answer with a groan, rough and helpless.
Clothes start to move.
Her fingers fist my shirt and yank it higher. My hands slide under the hem of hers, palms flattening on warm skin. Her breath breaks. Her knees buckle. I hold her upright.
“I’ve wanted this,” I murmur against her lips, “longer than you know.”
“Saxon…” she whispers, desperate. “Please.”
I kiss her until the world disappears.
Until the fundraiser, the hotel, the smoke, the firefighters, the entire damn town fall away and the only thing that exists is the heat between us and the way her body feels pressed against mine.
Her shirt inches upward under my hands. My fingers roam the curve of her waist, the line of her hips, the dip of her back. Skin on skin. Hot. Soft. Addictive.
She trembles.
I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the hollow beneath her ear, tasting her with a hunger that borders on madness. Her thighs press together. I slide my hands lower, gripping her firmly, pulling her against me again.
She gasps. Lifts her hips. Seeks me.
And for a second—I forget about air. I forget about rules. I forget about everything but her. We’re seconds away from losing control. Seconds from stripping down the rest of the way, audience be damned. Seconds from crossing a line we’ll never come back from.
I kiss her again—slow this time, deep, consuming—hands still roaming, still exploring, still sliding over skin I want more of and all of.
She pulls me down with her, mouth hot and urgent, breath mixing with mine as she whispers, “I want you.”
My chest nearly breaks open.
I press my forehead to hers, breathing hard. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes,” she pants, tugging my shirt, “I do.”
Her thumb grazes my lower lip. My body jerks.
“Sweetheart…” I whisper, voice ragged, “I’m afraid I won’t be gentle. You deserve gentle.”
Her breath trembles. “I don’t want gentle.”
I kiss her again, crushing our mouths together in a way that feels like claiming, like surrender, like both. Her shirt is halfway up. Mine is rucked to my ribs. Her fingers dig into my back. My palms slide down to the back of her thighs, lifting her a little again?—
Until the sound cuts through the night. A shout from the medic yard.
“CAPTAIN COLE! THEY NEED YOU FOR A FINAL CHECK—NOW!”
We both freeze.
