"Yes, baby." I can feel it. The way she's tightening around me. The trembling in her thighs. The particular tension that means she's close and climbing.
"Cedar Falls," she gasps.
My hand stills.
"What?"
Yes.”
Her eyes open and lock on mine as I continue to drive into her—bright, clear, absolutely certain.
“Yes to Cedar Falls. Yes to this. Yes to all of it—”
"Yes!"
The word rips out of me—raw,unguarded, the most undisciplined sound I have ever made in my life.
She comes. Hard. Her whole body seizes beneath me, back arching clean off the mattress, hands gripping my shoulders so hard I'll have crescents in my skin tomorrow.
The rhythmic, devastating clench of her around me is immediate and complete—pulling, squeezing, claiming every part of me at once, dragging me over the edge seconds later.
I bury my face against her neck and groan her name. Jane.Jane.
Not controlled. Not composed. Just hers.
We lie there.
Both breathing hard. Still tangled. The mountain view unchanged in the window.
Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. Over the marks she just left.
"I said yes during—" She starts laughing. Can't stop. "I literally said yes to relocation during—"
"No take-backs." I warn.
"It was a contractual agreement made under extreme duress—"
"It still counts."
She laughs harder. Her whole body shakes underneath me.
I pull back enough to see her properly.
Her face is flushed. Her eyes are the color of whiskey, and I’m drunk in them. She looks like a woman who just said yes to a new life while coming apart in a Cedar Falls penthouse and has absolutely zero regrets about either.
She pushes my hair off my forehead. Begins pressing small, deliberate kisses to my face—my jaw, my cheekbone, my nose, the corner of my mouth—with the focused attention of someone cataloguing something they intend to keep.
I love it.
I love her.
"You need to sign that contract," she says.
I start to laugh.
"I'm serious. There's a start date, West. July first. You needto call whoever handles that and sign it before they give the job to someone less—"
"Less what?"
