He's right there, inches away, and his expression is something I've never seen before. Tender. Reverent.
He pushes inside, and I stop breathing.
He sets a slow rhythm that seems designed to drive me completely insane.
His hands are everywhere—stroking my sides, gripping my thighs, cupping my face. And I'm touching him too, running my palms over the planes of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the nape of his neck. Learning him. Memorizing him. As if I'll need to remember this later, when we're back to being enemies.
The pleasure builds in layers. It’s not the sharp, desperate peak of our usual encounters, but something fuller and deeper. I can feel it gathering in my spine, my belly, the base of my skull. Carter's forehead drops to mine, and we breathe together, move together, and I'm aware of every place our bodies connect.
"Jamie," he says, and I want to purr at the sound of my name in his mouth.
I come apart slowly, shaking, the orgasm rolling through me in waves rather than crashing all at once. Carter follows moments later, burying his face in my neck, and I feel him pulse inside me, feel his whole body shudder against mine.
We lie there, tangled together, breathing hard.
Carter doesn't pull away. He doesn't roll off me and stare at the ceiling. He stays exactly where he is, heavy and warm, and when I turn my head, his lips brush my temple in something that might almost be a kiss.
The heat isn't satisfied. Already I can feel it building again, the next wave gathering strength. But for a small, quiet moment, I have a few seconds of clarity.
And all I can think is:that wasn’t fucking.
That wasmaking love.
What the actual fuck.
12. Carter
I have Jamie bent over the kitchen counter, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping his hip hard enough to leave bruises. He's making sounds that are half growl, half whimper and pushing back against me with a desperation that's rougher than it's been.
"Harder," he says.
I give him harder.
The heat has been relentless, waves crashing over us both without much warning, but there's something different about this round. There’s a sharpness to it that tells me we're coming out the other side. Jamie's body is starting to return to itself. He’s still wanting, still needy, but there’s less of the soft, dreamy surrender that characterized the past few days.
I’ve helped omegas through their heats before and that is new. Usually heats mean kinkier, harder, rougher. They’re pure desperation on both sides. For us, it was different and I’m not sure why. Maybe because we’ve already done the rough stuff. I don’t know, but the last few days have felt more like mutual worship than anything else.
I yank his head back and bite down on the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. He shudders beneath me, clenching tight, and swears. Yeah, his heat is definitely fading, although we’re still getting plenty of pleasure.
I won't say I miss the tenderness. I won't.
I fuck him through his orgasm and find my own release seconds later, and we stand there panting, still connected, sweat cooling on our skin. The kitchen is a mess around us—dishes from breakfast still in the sink, an overturned pepper grinder on the floor, a chair knocked sideways at some point during the proceedings.
Jamie straightens slowly, pulling away from me, and I feel the loss of him immediately. He braces both hands on the counter and catches his breath.
"Water," he says.
I get him a glass. He drinks half of it in one long swallow and sets it down.
Jamie turns around, leaning back against the counter, and studies me. His hair is wrecked. My marks are all over his throat and chest. His eyes are clearer than they've been in days.
"I need a shower," he says.
He doesn't invite me to join him. That's new too.
I clean up the kitchen while I listen to the water run. The domestic routine of it is strange. Here I am, washing dishes in my grandmother's cabin, listening to the man who is trying to destroy my career shower in the next room, already thinking about when I'll get to touch him again.
When the water shuts off, I dry my hands and wander to the living room. The fire needs tending. I crouch by the hearth and add another log, watching the flames lick up around the edges.
