I hold back my groan. Instead, I keep my mouth sealed to hers as I grip her hips and lift her onto my lap because I need her closer—need her everywhere.
Chest against chest, my heartbeat has no chance of catching up to how she feels. Tothis.
She rocks forward again, right over me, only the thin fabric of her shorts and my jeans keeping me from losing my mind. Fuck, I'm so hard it hurts, and the way she's moving—like she needs this as much as I do—is going to destroy me.
I kiss her deeper, harder, showing her just how many times I’ve thought about this. Too many. I’ve been wanting this since the fountain. That I’ll never stop wanting this.
This is it.
This is fucking it.
If I die tomorrow, bury me right here because nothing I do in my life will ever feel like this.
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging hard enough to blur my vision at the edges. She’s panting now, her body grinding against mine with a rhythm that steals every coherent thought.
My hand skims higher beneath her shirt, my fingers curving around her ribs. My thumb brushes the underside of her breast—
“Scotty,” she breathes against my mouth, looking dazed and beautiful.
“Yeah?”
“The swing—”
Before she can finish the sentence, there's a loud CRACK.
We freeze.
“Did that sound—” I start.
CRACK. CRACK. Crrrreeeaaaak.
“Oh, shit.”
Laura shoots up, but the whole swing lurches sideways, and the metal chains creak in a way that definitely means death is imminent.
I jump off a half-second before it gives out, slamming into the porch with a loud rattle as the chains on the left side snap free.
BANG.
“Fuck,” I say low.
Standing opposite, we stare at the destroyed porch swing, then at each other.
I swear the universe is against me.
Laura starts to laugh—this helpless, gasping laughter that's absolutely contagious.
“We broke the porch swing,” she wheezes. “We made out so hard we broke my roommate’s porch swing.”
I'm laughing too. “In my defense, it was already pretty rickety.”
She whacks me lightly on the chest. “It was fine until you and your hockey player weight collapsed it!”
I take hold of her hand, pulling her closer to me. “My hockey player weight? Are you calling me fat?”
She's giggling so hard she can barely speak. “No, I'm calling you dense. There's a difference.”
“Dense?” I tug her even closer. “Princess, I’m built for impact. The porch swing was not.”
