One second I'm on top of him; the next I'm on my back, the cold rock biting into my shoulders, his weight pressing me down.He's not gentle now. Not careful. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that's more teeth than tongue, his hands pinning my wrists above my head.
"This what you wanted?" His voice is a growl against my throat.
"It's what I'm taking," I rasp back. This isn't him doing somethingtome; it's us, together, in the raw reality of the rock and the dark. I am not a victim of this intensity. I am the woman who climbed two hundred feet of vertical granite to get here, and I am more than strong enough for this.
"Tell me if it's too much."
"It won't be."
"Tell me anyway."
Then he's inside me, and there's nothing slow about it this time. No careful building, no measured thrusts. He takes me like he needs me to survive—hard and fast and relentless, like he's trying to crawl inside my skin.
And I love it.
I love the weight of him, the strength of him, the way he's finally stopped holding back. I love the sounds he makes—low grunts and harsh breaths, and my name torn from his throat like a curse. I love that he's letting me see this part of him, the part he keeps locked away, the rough edges he thinks he needs to hide.
"More," I gasp. "Jon—more?—"
He gives me more.
He gives me everything.
When I shatter this time, it's violent—a scream ripped from my throat that echoes off the canyon walls. He follows seconds later, his whole body shuddering, my name on his lips like a prayer.
We collapse together.
For a long moment, there's nothing but harsh breathing and racing hearts and the distant sound of wind through the canyon.
"Fuck." His voice is wrecked. "Evie. I?—"
"Don't apologize." I'm still trembling, aftershocks rolling through me. "Don't you dare apologize for being too rough.”
"I wasn't going to." He lifts his head, meets my eyes. Even in the darkness, I can see the intensity there. The rawness. "I was going to say thank you."
"For what?"
"For letting me—" He stops. Swallows. "For trusting me enough to let me be that."
"That's who you are."
"Part of who I am." He brushes the hair from my face, his touch gentle now—a contrast to what we just did. "Not the whole picture."
"I know." I pull him down, press my lips to his. "I like all the parts. The gentle ones and the rough ones. The jokes and the silence. All of it."
He's quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is different. Softer.
"I've never—" He stops. Tries again. "No one's ever asked for that before. For the rough parts."
"Their loss."
He laughs—surprised, genuine. "You're something else, you know that?"
"So I've been told." I curl into him, let his warmth chase away the cold. "Usually not as a compliment."
"It's a compliment." He pulls me closer. "Trust me. It's a compliment."
The light has shifted while we weren't paying attention. What was purple is now black, the stars wheeling overhead in patterns I couldn't see from the city. We've been on this ledge for hours. Lost track of time entirely.
