“For real. Forever.”
The careful restraint he’s been wearing like armor cracks wide open.
“Thankfuck.” And then he’s kissing me.
Not gentle. Not careful. Ten years of wanting compressed into a single moment, his mouth hot and demanding. I gasp and he swallows the sound, one hand fisting in my hair, the other hauling me closer until there’s no space between us.
I grab his shirt and hold on for dear life.
His scent floods my senses—earth and honeysuckle andwant—and I’m drowning in it. I want to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in forever. I want to lick his skin and see if he tastes as good as he smells. I want?—
Heat pools low in my belly. Slick gathers between my thighs, soaking through my underwear, and the speed of it catches me off guard. I’m slick. Already.Drippingalready, just from kissing him.
“Theo.” I pant his name when we break for air.
“Ten years.” His voice is raw, shattered. His forehead presses against mine, both of us breathing hard. “Ten years of dreaming about this. About having you back. About—” He cuts himself off with a groan, his hands sliding down to grip my hips. “And the other night at the cottage, getting to touch you, taste you—god, Cara. I’ve been losing my mind thinking about it.”
“Then stop thinking.” I grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to me. “And show me.”
His eyes go dark. The warm, open Theo I know sharpens into something hungrier. Something that makes my thighs press together.
“Show you,” he repeats, low and rough. His hands tighten on my hips. “You sure about that, sunshine? Because if we start this here, I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve had all of you.”
My breath catches. “All of me?”
“Everything.” His thumb traces circles on my hip bone, dipping under the hem of my sweater to find bare skin. “Everything we didn’t get to finish at the cottage. Everything I’ve been dreaming about for a decade.” His voice drops. “Want to be inside you, Cara. Want to feel you come apart around my knot. Want to fill you up until you’re dripping with me.”
My knees nearly buckle.
“Yes.” The word comes out breathy, desperate. “Yes to all of it. Please.”
He groans, low and rough, and then his mouth is on mine again.
This kiss is hungrier. Dirtier. His tongue slides against mine and I melt into him, my fingers clawing at his shoulders. He walks me backward until my ass hits the potting bench, and then he’s lifting me, setting me on the wooden surface like I weigh nothing.
“Been thinking about this,” he says against my throat, his lips trailing hot kisses down my neck. “About having you here. In my greenhouse. Surrounded by all my plants.” He nips at my shoulder, just hard enough to sting, and I gasp, arching into him. “Like you belong here.”
“I do belong here.” I tilt my head back, giving him more. “With you.”
“With me.” He pulls back just long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head, and I lose the ability to think.
God, hischest. Broad and golden, muscles defined from years of hauling soil and plants and building things with his hands. I reach out and trace my fingers across his pecs, down his abs, following the trail of dark hair that disappears into his jeans.
“Your turn,” he says, voice rough.
He strips my sweater over my head. My bra follows seconds later, his fingers surprisingly deft with the clasp. And then I’m bare from the waist up, sitting on his potting bench in the middle of the afternoon, and I should feel exposed but I don’t.
Not with him looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.
“Beautiful.” His voice is reverent. His hands come up to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I arch intohis touch with a moan. “So fucking beautiful. Been dreaming about this, Cara. About getting my hands on you. My mouth.”
He leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth.
I cry out, my hands flying to his hair to hold him there. His tongue swirls, his teeth graze, and he sucks hard enough to make my back arch off the bench. He’s not gentle about it—he’s greedy, hungry, like he’s been starving for this.
Heat pulses between my thighs. I can feel the slick dripping out of me now, pooling beneath me on the wooden surface.
“Theo—”
