I glanced toward the truck bed, then back at him with a smile I knew he couldn’t resist.
“The kind we can’t make with two kids in the house.”
His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and sure, like he’d been waiting for permission all afternoon. I kissed him back just as hard, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space left between us.
The wind rustled through the pines, carrying the sharp scent of resin and sun-warmed earth. Somewhere far below, a hawk cried once, sharp and wild. But all I really heard was the rough catch in Kross’s throat when I nipped his bottom lip and the low growl that vibrated through his chest.
My hands slid beneath his shirt, palms flat against the hard planes of his stomach, feeling muscle flex under my touch. He hissed when my nails scraped lightly down his sides.
“Bed,” I whispered against his mouth. “Truck bed. Now.”
He didn’t argue. One arm hooked under my thighs and lifted me like I weighed nothing, carrying me the few steps to the tailgate. He set me down on the edge, then dropped the gate with a metallic clank. The blanket I’d thrown in earlier was already spread out—soft green flannel, the one we used for picnics.
Kross climbed up after me and pulled me down with him until we were tangled together, the truck bed warm from the day’s sun beneath us. Above, the sky was turning molten gold, streaks of pink bleeding into the horizon.
I pressed at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back, then straddled him, my knees bracketing his hips. His hands slid up my thighs beneath my sundress, rough calluses dragging over my skin.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I told him, already unbuttoning his shirt. His chest was flushed, a faint sheen of sweat still clinging to him. I leaned down and traced my tongue along his collarbone.
“Fuck, Syd.” His fingers dug into my hips when I rocked against the thick line of him straining beneath his jeans.
I sat up, peeled my dress over my head, and tossed it toward the cab. The breeze skimmed my bare skin, tightening my nipples instantly. Kross’s eyes darkened as he took me in—slow and thorough, the way he always did.
I unhooked my bra and let it fall away. His hands were on me immediately, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks until I arched into him with a moan.
“God, I love your tits,” he muttered, voice thick. Then his mouth was there—hot and wet—drawing one nipple deep while his fingers worked the other.
I ground down harder, feeling every inch of him through the denim. My hands shook as I worked open his belt, then his fly. When I freed him, he was heavy and hot in my palm, already slick at the tip. I stroked him slowly, watching his abs tighten, his head tip back as a low curse slipped free.
I didn’t give him time to recover. I shoved his jeans down just enough, then shifted forward, sliding my soaked panties aside. The first press of him against me made us both groan.
“Slow,” he rasped, hands gripping my hips.
I shook my head. “Not today.”
I sank down onto him in one smooth, steady glide.
The stretch was exquisite—thick and perfect and so full I had to pause, breathing hard, feeling him throb inside me. His hands flexed, knuckles whitening.
I started to move. Slow at first, rolling my hips in deep circles that made him curse under his breath. Then faster. Harder. The truck rocked faintly with each thrust. The sounds were messy and beautiful—skin on skin, my sharp gasps, his low groans, the soft creak of suspension.
I braced my hands on his chest and rode him like I needed him to feel everything—how much I wanted him, how much I still needed this after four years, two kids, and another on the way.
His gaze locked on where we joined, watching himself disappear into me again and again. “So fucking wet for me,” he ground out. “Taking every inch.”
I clenched around him on purpose. He bucked hard, driving deeper, and I cried out. His hand slid between us, thumb finding me with practiced ease, circling in tight, relentless strokes that matched my rhythm.
“Come for me first,” he growled. “I want to feel you.”
The pressure, the words, the way he looked up at me like I was everything—it tore through me. My thighs shook, my movement faltered, and then I came, clenching hard around him as wave after wave crashed through me. I threw my head back, moaning his name into the open air.
He didn’t let me come down. As soon as the worst of the spasms eased, he rolled us gently and settled between my thighs, one leg hooked over his hip as he drove back in deep.
Hard. Relentless.
The blanket bunched beneath me. His mouth found mine, swallowing every sound. I wrapped my legs around him, urging him faster.
“Come inside me,” I gasped. “I want to feel you.”
