I meet him thrust for thrust. My hands roam over his back, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under my palms. I scratch my nails lightly down his spine, and he shudders, his pace quickening.
The friction is incredible. The sound of our breathing, the slap of skin against skin, the rain hammering against the roof, it all blends into a symphony of sensation.
"You're mine," he groans against my neck, biting lightly at the sensitive cord. "Say it."
It's possessive. It's arrogant. It's everything I should hate.
"I'm yours," I whisper.
And I mean it.
The coil in my belly tightens again, faster this time. Brooks senses it. He shifts his angle, grinding against me with every thrust.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. "Let go, Ivy. I've got you. Let go."
I shatter.
It crashes over me like the waves outside, a blinding, white-hot release that makes me arch off the bed, screaming his name. My inner muscles clamp around him, pulsing.
Brooks doesn't stop. He stays right there, holding me through it, moving deep and steady as my body trembles around him. He groans, a guttural sound torn from his throat, control stretched to its limit as he rides out every aftershock with me.
Only when my shaking finally eases does his body go rigid, a harsh breath breaking from him as he gives in, pressed deep and unyielding as his release takes him.
He collapses on top of me, burying his face in my neck. We lie there, panting, slick with sweat, our hearts racing in sync.
The sound of the rain is the only thing in the world.
Later, much later, the storm has passed.
The cottage is quiet, save for the rhythmic dripping of water from the eaves and the soft hum of the air conditioner kicking back on.
I am lying in the center of the bed. The pillow wall is still on the floor, a chaotic pile of velvet and down. The duvet is tangled around our legs.
I am resting my head on Brooks's chest. His arm is wrapped around me, a heavy, solid weight that feels like a shield against the world. He presses a kiss to my hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to memorize the scent of the rain and the moment.
“Don’t disappear on me,” he murmurs into my hair.
It's not a question. It's not a command. It sounds like a wish he's afraid to speak out loud.
I listen to his heartbeat. It's slow now. Steady.
"Ivy?" he says into the darkness.
"Hmm?"
"Clause 4 is definitely void."
I smile against his skin, tracing a scar on his ribs with my fingertip.
"I think we violated Clause 4 in about six different jurisdictions. And Clause 9. And possibly several labor laws."
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. It's a happy sound. A sound I haven't heard from him often enough. He tightens his arm around me, pulling me closer, kissing the top of my head.
"Worth it," he says.
"Yeah," I whisper. "Worth it."
I close my eyes, savoring the warmth, the safety. I let myself believe the lie. I let myself believe that this is real. That we are just a normal couple, in a normal cottage, on a normal rainy night.
