“Hey,” she said, reaching down to smooth her palm over his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. She wasn’t good at being gentle. She tried anyway. “Stay with me.”
His exhale touched her wrist. “I haven’t gone anywhere.” He turned his head and kissed the center of her palm. “That laugh—I just remembered the first time I heard it, and I’m not sure I’ve heard it since.” He dragged the flat of his tongue there. Heat pooled low and insistent. “You need to—we both need to laugh more often.”
“We can do that later. Right now, I need you to take off your shirt.” She needed fewer layers between them, needed his skin on hers without the barrier of cotton and grief.
The soft whoosh of fabric cleared his shoulders, followed by the faint thud of it hitting the floor. Moonlight traced the edges of him—broad shoulders, the scar near his ribs. She reached toward him and pressed her mouth to that pale line, tasted salt and old stories, felt him stiffen, then ease.
When she rolled, he went with her, flat on his back, and she straddled him, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. He swore, a raw syllable that punched heat into her.
She braced her hands on his chest, the flex of muscle there unspooling the resistance that had been wound too tight inside her for too long. She moved because she couldn’t not, a slow grind that let the thick ridge beneath his jeans sit exactly where she wanted it. Pressure, friction, relief that bordered on pain. He clutched her hips and held her there, grounded her in place while she chased the drag of that sensation again.
Cloth was in the way. She reached behind and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down. He helped, knuckles grazing the curve of her ass. It wasn’t neat, but it didn’t matter. She sat up, bare and open, and for a beat, the fan’s lazy whir sounded like the hush of surf. Ridiculous, with swamp water outside. She couldn’t stop the thought. She didn’t want to.
“Condoms?” she managed, because she might be suspended over a knife’s edge, but she hadn’t lost all sense.
“I’ve got a few, but are we going right to the finish line?” He reached between her legs, teasing and probing. He'd proven to be an unselfish lover—a lover who paid attention to the wants and needs of his partner. The first time they’d slept together, he joked that he had one simple rule in bed. And that was she comes first. Thing was—with Trent—there wasn’t an ounce of falseness to that statement.
“Finish line. I’m desperate.”
He chuckled and reached for the nightstand. “I aim to please.” The drawer stuck, then gave. A ripped corner of cardboard, the crinkle of foil—the ordinary sounds whispered like a promise. “Take this for a second while I get out of these jeans.”
She watched as he shimmied out of his pants and kicked them across the room.
He reached for the condom in her hand.
“I’ll do it.”
He groaned. “You're the only person I know who’s managed to make this part a turn on.”
“Are you serious?” She tore the packet with her teeth and tossed the foil to the floor. She cupped him, stroking gently. “Any time my hands and eyes are on this part of your body, you’re turned on.”
“I’m turned on the moment you enter a room,” he said through ragged breaths.
She swallowed—hard—while trying to remind herself it was a line tossed out while she was pleasuring him. It didn’t mean anything. It certainly wasn’t meant to encourage her to keep expecting this.
His thigh muscles flexed and tightened as she rolled the condom over him.
He reached for her, hands gentle on her thighs, and she sank down in one long, powerful glide. Her body took him in the way that made her teeth catch her lower lip. She exhaled toward the ceiling, and for a moment, she sat still, allowing herself to feel every inch of him inside her.
The moment passed, and she had to move. Slow at first to feel every precise shift, to memorize the way the mattress dipped, and the quilt rasped her knees, the way his thumbs stroked the curve where thigh met hip— a dance that was equal in tenderness and pressure.
Heat gathered—a tide pulling at her in steady increments. She set a rhythm and rode it, chased it, adjusted when his grip tightened and he thrust up to meet her. She leaned forward, planted a hand by his head to keep her balance, and he took that opportunity to mouth her breast again, tongue and teeth teasing the hard point until she swore and rolled her hips harder. He groaned, and the sound flooded her with a fierce, dizzy satisfaction.
The room narrowed to the wild rasp of their breathing. Outside, something splashed. The swamp went about its business. Inside, they created their own weather.
She felt the moment her control started to splinter. It came on fast, a hot coil tightening low and deep. The wrung-out ache tipping toward relief. She chased it shamelessly, angled her hips to catch the pressure exactly where she needed it.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
She stared into his warm and kind eyes. This was a man who loved fiercely and deeply. She’d seen that in the way he cared for his mother. Even in the way he treated his friends. Especially his two best friends, Cullen and Fallon. But he was also a man who kept people at a distance. He didn’t let many in. But when he did, he was loyal to the bone.
She wasn’t quite sure where she fit—perhaps somewhere in the middle of that and she tried to tell herself that was enough.
He lifted his head, wrapped a hand behind her neck, and brought their lips together in a wild and passionate kiss. It didn’t last long, but it sent shockwaves across her muscles.
He braced his feet, and drove up into her in hard, sure strokes that punched little sounds out of her throat she couldn’t have swallowed if she’d tried.
“Oh, god, yes,” she heard herself say, tone unfamiliar and rough.
