She's not wearing a bra, which I count as a win. She's been dressed and ready since day three, sleeping in her clothes. The thought of her lying awake in that cabin, terrified and prepared, makes something fierce and protective surge in my chest.
"You're staring." Her voice is shaky. Self-conscious.
"I'm appreciating." I trace the curve of her breast, watch goosebumps rise in the wake of my fingers. "There's a difference."
"You said that before."
"I meant it then. I mean it now." I lower my head and press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. Then lower. "You're a miracle, Evie. Do you know that? A miracle wrapped in granite and determination and the softest skin I've ever touched."
"That's—" She breaks off as my mouth finds her nipple. "Oh…”
"Good Oh, or bad Oh?"
"Good. Very—oh—very good."
I take my time there, too. Learn what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her fingers dig into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. She's responsive in ways I didn't expect—unguarded, uninhibited, completely present in a way that makes every touch feel electric.
"Jon." Her voice is wrecked. "I need?—"
"What do you need?"
"More. Please."
My hand slides down her stomach. Pauses at the waistband of her jeans.
"Here?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Jon." She grabs my face, forces me to look at her. Her eyes are dark, desperate, blazing with a need I put there. "If you ask me one more time if I'm sure, I'm going to scream."
"That's the idea, sweetheart."
I slip my hand into her jeans.
She's wet. Soaking. The proof of her desire coats my fingers as I stroke her, and she makes a sound that isn't quite a word—something primal and needy and utterly perfect.
"That's it." I work her with my fingers, find the rhythm that makes her arch against me. "Let me hear you."
She comes with my name on her lips.
It's a beautiful thing to watch her shatter. The way her whole body tenses, trembles, and releases. The way her face goes slack with pleasure, all her careful control finally breaking. The way she looks at me afterward—stunned, sated, almost confused, like she's never felt anything like that before.
Maybe she hasn't. Maybe the asshole ex never bothered to learn her body. The thought makes me want to break his jaw all over again.
"I want you inside me." Her voice is a wreck. "Now. Please."
We strip off the rest of our clothes in a tangle of limbs and laughter—her jeans caught on her boots, my belt buckle jammed, the absurd logistics of getting naked on a rock ledge in the dark. She's shivering again, but this time it's not from the cold.
"Are you?—"
"If you ask me if I'm okay one more time?—"
I silence her with a kiss and slide home.
We both go still.
