Instead of answering, I reached for the zipper of his coat and jerked it down. He shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor. Then his hands were on me again, sliding under my coat, making contact with my skin.
All the restraint we’d been clinging to snapped at once. We moved toward the cot in a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. My back hit the narrow mattress and he followed me down, his weight settling over me like an answer to a question I hadn't known I was asking. The worn blanket smelled faintly of cedar and mothballs, but all I could focus on was the heat radiating from his body and the way his hands framed my face like I was something precious.
“I've wanted this,” he said against my mouth, his voice rough and unsteady. “Wanted you. Even when I was trying not to.”
My chest tightened at the confession. “I know,” I whispered. “Me too.”
His hands moved with purpose, his calloused palms rough against my skin. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was memorizing me. He peeled away layers one at a time. First my sweater, then my thermal, finally the thin tank underneath, until the only thing covering my breasts was a bra that was way more practical than sexy.
I reached for him, tugging at his flannel until he sat back long enough to yank it over his head. My fingers raced over the hard planes of his chest, muscle earned from years of pushing his body beyond its limits and hours of manual labor. physical work. He sucked in a breath as I traced a faded scar that zig-zagged over his ribs.
“Morgan,” he said, part warning, part plea.
I pulled him back down, needing his mouth on mine, needing the weight of him to anchor me before I came apart completely. His kiss turned deeper, hungrier, and I arched into him, feeling his hard length press against my thigh through too many layers that were still between us.
He made quick work of the rest. Our jeans hit the floor, followed by my panties and his boxer briefs. Finally, there was nothing left between us but heat and need. His hands slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts, and I shivered despite the warmth flooding my body.
“You're so damn beautiful,” he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck, across my collarbone, then lower. “I don't deserve this.”
“Stop thinking,” I said, threading my fingers through his hair. “Just feel.”
He lifted his head, his dark eyes searching mine in the dim firelight. Whatever he saw made something in his expression crack open. Then his mouth was on mine again, and his hand slid between my thighs, finding me slick and ready.
I gasped against his lips as his fingers moved with infuriating slowness, learning what made me moan, what made my thighs squeeze together, and what made my hips buck off the mattress. He watched my face the whole time, his jaw tight with restraint, like my pleasure was the only thing that mattered.
“Slade, please.” I dug my fingers into his shoulders. “Stop teasing me.”
The mattress groaned as he sat back on his knees and rolled a condom I didn’t even know he had over his cock. My nipples hardened as I waited, wet and eager to feel him inside me. Then he leaned forward and notched his dick at my entrance, his forearm braced beside my head, his other hand cupping my face.
“Is this what you’re waiting for, Morgan?”
“Yes. Yes, please.”
When he pushed inside me, slow and steady, I cried out at the intensity. He filled me completely. My body stretched and yielded to his like it had been made for this moment.
He stilled immediately, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged. “Okay?”
“Yes.” I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing all of him. “Don't stop.”
He didn't. He moved with the same steady competence he brought to everything else, but there was nothing controlled about the way his breath hitched or the way his hands gripped my hips like he was afraid I'd disappear. He read my body like he'd studied it, responding to every sound and shift, adjusting his angle until I was clutching at him, gasping his name.
“God, woman,” he groaned against my neck. “You feel so fucking good.”
The tension coiled tighter in my core with every thrust, building until I couldn't think about anything except the feeling of him, the weight of him, the way he whispered my name like it mattered more than anything else in the world.
When I came apart beneath him, it crashed through me in waves that left me shaking, my body arching into his as pleasure sparked through every nerve. He followed moments later with a broken sound that was half my name, half something that didn’t sound human, his body shuddering against mine as he buried his face in my neck.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, our hearts pounding in sync. His weight pinned me to the mattress, and I didn't want him to move. Didn't want this moment to end and reality to come crashing back in.
Finally, he shifted just enough to look at me, his hand brushing damp hair from my forehead. His eyes held something raw and unsure, like he didn't know what should come next any more than I did.
“That was—” he started.
“I know.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple, gentle in a way that made my throat tight. Then he rolled to his side, pulling me against him on the narrow cot, our legs tangled together as the storm raged on outside.
Neither of us spoke. There would be time for words later. Plenty of time for questions and consequences and whatever this meant for everything waiting on the other side of the storm. For now, I let myself have sink into the warmth of his body, listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing, and appreciate the feeling that for once, I wasn't fighting alone.
