"Fear's normal. You used it right."
Silence stretches between us. Different from the tension in the field. Something's been building between us for days.
"Marc—" she starts.
I cross to her, slide my hands into her hair. "You're safe. Haywood's in custody. You can breathe now."
"I don't want to breathe." Her voice drops. "I want you."
The words hang between us, honest and raw.
I kiss her.
She responds immediately, fists my shirt, drags me closer. Her mouth opens under mine, hot and demanding. I taste coffee and something sweet underneath, uniquely her. The kiss deepens, becomes desperate. All the fear and tension and need we've been holding back crashes through.
I walk her backward toward the bedroom, never breaking contact. She's tugging at my clothes, impatient, working buttons. I help her, strip off my shirt, my undershirt. Her palms slide over my chest, exploring scars and muscle.
"Marc—" Her voice is breathless.
"I know." I strip off her fleece, the thermal underneath. She's wearing a simple sports bra, nothing sexy, but the sight of her hits me hard. I drag her against me, skin to skin, and the contact makes us both groan.
We stumble into the bedroom. I get her bra off, fill my hands with her breasts. Perfect handfuls, nipples already tight. I lower my head, take one into my mouth.
She gasps, arches into me. She threads her fingers through my hair, holding me there. I use my tongue, my teeth, gentle at first then harder when she moans. Switch to the other breast, give it the same attention while my hand works the first, rolling and pinching until she's trembling.
"Too many clothes," she breathes.
I straighten, work the button on her tactical pants. Slide them down her hips along with her underwear. She kicks them off, stands naked in front of me.
Beautiful. Curves and soft skin, a small scar on her hip, freckles across her collarbone. I take a moment just looking, committing every detail to memory.
"Your turn," she says, reaching for my belt.
I let her work it open, push my pants and boxers down. She stares when she sees me fully hard, already leaking. She reaches out, wraps her hand around me.
I hiss at the contact. She strokes once, twice, learning the weight and feel of me. Her thumb sweeps over the head, spreading wetness.
Then she drops to her knees.
"Sela—"
She looks up at me, eyes dark with want. "Fair's fair."
She leans in, drags her tongue along my length. Slow and exploratory, the way I explored her. When she reaches the tip, she swirls her tongue around the head.
My breath catches. She takes me into her mouth. The heat of her, the slickness—fuck, it's incredible. Starts working me with lips and tongue, finding a rhythm that makes my knees weak.
I thread my fingers through her hair, anchoring myself. She takes me deeper, relaxes her throat. The sight of her on her knees, mouth full of me, nearly undoes me right there.
"Stop," I manage. "I'm too close."
She pulls off with an obscene sound, lips swollen and wet. "Good."
"Not yet." I haul her to her feet, kiss her hard. Taste myself on her tongue.
I walk her backward to the bed. We fall onto the mattress together. I pin her beneath me, settle between her thighs. She'swet already, I feel her against my cock. Takes everything I have not to just thrust inside her.
Not yet. Want her desperate first.
