The world narrows to nothing but Lane, the soft scent of her skin, the small sound she makes when my teeth graze her bottom lip, the heat of her bodyagainst mine.
Every boundary we've carefully maintained since the divorce crumbles. Every excuse disappears.
I lift her with one fluid motion, and her legs wrap around my waist, instinctive and perfect. Her arms lock around my neck as we crash into the heat we've both been running from for too long.
The wall supports her back as I press against her, no space between us anymore, no more distance, no more pretending this isn't exactly where we both want to be.
Lane's lips break from mine, and she draws a ragged breath. Her hazel eyes, blown wide with desire, hold mine for a heart-stopping moment. Then she tugs my shirt up, fingers trembling slightly against my skin.
"Bedroom?" I manage, barely recognizing my own voice.
She shakes her head. "Too far."
We stumble backward toward the living room, neither willing to break contact. My jacket catches on her side table, sending a photo frame clattering to the carpet. I don't look to see which memory we've disturbed.
The Christmas tree glows in the corner, the only light in the room, casting dancing shadows across Lane's face as she pulls me down onto her couch. The same couch I sat with her and Sanders as we scrolled through the comments on his post, keeping a careful distance. Nothing careful about us now.
My jacket hits the floor. Her sweater follows, revealing skin I've dreamed about for a lifetime. She arches beneath me, a soft sound escaping her throat that makes my blood roar in my ears.
"Lane," I breathe against her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her gardenia lotion. "I've missed you. God, I've missed you."
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, urgent and demanding.We're half-clothed, half out of our minds with need, and I can't help the rough laugh that escapes me when she fumbles with my belt.
Her body arches beneath me, the soft give of the couch cushions creaking under our weight. My hand fists in the hem of her shirt, yanking it up to bare her tight middle. The skin there is warm, smooth, familiar, and yet brand-new.
She gasps when my mouth trails down her throat, when my stubble scrapes her collarbone. Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, nails biting through the fabric. I feel her pulse hammering as hard as mine.
I tug at her leggings, desperate now. The thin fabric stretches until it gives with a pop of thread. She lets out a shaky laugh, half-moan, half-surprise. “You’re ruining them.”
“I’ll buy you ten more.” My voice is rough, words scraping out between pants.
Her hands are everywhere, shoving at my shirt, dragging it over my head, skimming down my chest like she needs to relearn me inch by inch. Heat scorches through me as her palms flatten against my skin.
I shove her leggings the rest of the way down, tugging them over her knees until she kicks them free, panties the only thing left between us.
Her breath stutters as I hook my fingers in the thin cotton, dragging them down her thighs and tossing them aside. She’s bare now, legs falling open against the cushions, her skin flushed, her body already arching to meet me.
I tear open a condom, the foil sharp in my fist, and roll it on with shaking hands. The whole time, her gaze is on me, chest rising andfalling fast.
“Woody,” she whispers, hips shifting, thighs brushing my sides.
“God, Lane.” My voice is a rasp as I shift closer, nudging her thighs apart. I hook her knees over my forearms, lifting, angling her hips so I can slide between them.
The head of my cock drags against her slick heat, and she gasps, clutching at my shoulders.
“Woody…” Her voice is breathless, needy. Her heels dig into my back, urging me closer.
I push forward, slow at first, then deeper, until I’m buried in her again.“Woody…” My name on her lips is half-plea, half-warning.
“Do you like this, Lane?” My forehead presses to hers, our breath tangling hot, uneven. My cock slides deeper, slow at first, just to feel her take me in again. “God, I love being inside you. I missed this. I missedyou.”
Her nails bite into my shoulders. Her eyes are wide, dark, unflinching. “Oh, God. Yes. Yessssss.”
My hand finds its way between us, fingers slipping against her, stroking like I’ve never forgotten how. The sound she makes, broken, needy, hits me square in the chest.
“Christ,” I groan into her ear, voice shaking. “Seven years, Lane. Seven years and you still melt for me. You still know exactly how to break me.”
Her hips lift to meet me, every thrust harder, deeper, the couch groaning beneath us. She gasps my name, the way she used to, back when nothing came between us.
