One week ago, he'd have torn my head off. I'm beginning to think he really is falling in love with me, and it makes me want to hide from him. I feel like all of this is my fault. I'm the one who was digging into that dead guy's murder and snooping around. Cal Maddox probably learned I was snooping and looked me up, and now we're in this so deep, Dane could get killed.
"Hey," he says softly, and I look him in the eye. "I'm gonna fix this."
I don't know why but when he says it like that, I believe him.
His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time, like he’s swallowing every apology I still owe him. I taste smoke on his lips and the faint bite of whiskey from the road. My hands fist in his hair, pulling him closer until the chair groans under us.
“Off,” I whisper against his mouth, tugging at his flannel. “I need to feel you.”
He doesn’t argue. Dane tugs the shirt open, shrugging it down his arms. I scrape my nails over his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, the old scars that flex when he breathes. His skin is furnace-hot against the chill in the room.
My sweater’s gone next—he yanks it over my head, lets it fall. Cold air hits me, but then his mouth is on my collarbone, my breast, teeth scraping just enough to make me gasp. I arch up, fumbling with his belt. Metal clinks, leather slides free.
“Jeans,” I pant. “Now.”
He stands long enough to shove them down, kicking free, and I wiggle out of mine while he watches hungrily, like he’s memorizing every inch of my skin. When he lays me down on the rug, we’re bare, nothing between us but heat and the crackle of the fire.
His hand moves lower, sliding one hand between my thighs, fingers finding me slick and ready. His jaw clenches when I moan. “It's gonna be okay," he whispers. "You're too precious for me to let anyone touch you, except me."
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe against his chest, and I let my knees fall apart as he settles between them. His dick is rock hard, pressing against my core as his hips grind. My juices slick him and my core aches to feel him inside of me, to have him anchor me after the day of panic I've had.
"I need you, Dane… please," I beg, lifting my hips until his hand guides his head to my entrance.
He pushes in slowly, eyes never leaving mine, while I wrap my legs high around his waist, heels digging into his back.
“Yes,” I whisper, rocking up to meet him. “I missed you so much. God, you're never allowed to leave me again."
“Fuck, Sloane…” He drives deeper, hips rolling in that perfect rhythm that makes my toes curl.
My throat's tight, and pull his mouth to mine so he can taste the whimpers of pleasure I can’t say aloud. The rug is rough against my back, his body heavy and perfect above me, and every thrust feels like a vow neither of us knows how to break.
He drags his hips back slowly, almost all the way out, then sinks in again so deep I feel it in my spine. My breath catches, a broken sound that makes him growl low in his throat.
“Like that?” he rasps against my mouth before biting my lip.
“Harder,” I gasp, nails digging into his ass, urging him. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel you for days.”
He swears under his breath and gives me exactly what I asked for. The rug burns my shoulders as he slams into me, and every thrust punches the air from my lungs until I’m gasping. The fire pops beside us, sparks jumping like they’re jealous of the heat we’re making, but the fire is nothing compared to the sensations between my legs.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” he groans, dropping to his elbows so his chest drags over mine with every stroke. “Been thinking about this the whole damn drive. You under me with my dick buried inside you."
I hook one leg higher, over his back, opening myself wider. He hisses and drives deeper, the angle perfect, hitting that spot that makes my vision blur.
“Right there—Dane, don’t stop.”
“Never,” he grits out, sweat dripping from his temple onto my shoulder. “Not stopping till you come all over me.”
His hand wedges between us, thumb finding my clit, circling, and I cry out, back bowing off the floor, the pleasure so sharp it almost hurts.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice cracking with strain. “I want to see it when you fall apart.”
I force my eyes open. His face is fierce, beautiful, jaw locked like he’s fighting not to lose it first. I reach up, grip his hair, and yank his mouth to mine.
“I love you,” I breathe against his lips, those words that spill out without my permission but are one hundred percent true. “God, I love you.”
He falters for half a heartbeat, eyes flaring wide, then thrusts into me harder than before. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” It’s a sob this time, because I’m right there, teetering on the edge. “Dane?—”
