There was no pain or discomfort, only the full, stretching pressure of him filling her completely, and the look in his eyes as he did: raw, unguarded, a man with no walls left.
He moved with slow, deep strokes that she felt in the pit of her stomach. His hips rolled against hers in a rhythm that built without rushing, each thrust a deliberate act of attention. His hand slid beneath her lower back, changing the angle, and she heard herself moan.
She wrapped her legs around him. Her left knee protested and she didn’t care. She pulled him closer, deeper, her heel pressed into the small of his back.
His pace held. Steady. Controlled. The muscles in his arms trembled with the effort of not taking more than she could give.
She pressed her mouth to his ear. “I’m not going to break.”
His rhythm shifted. Deeper. His hand tightened on her hip. She felt the restraint crack, not into roughness, but into honesty. The careful distance he’d been keeping collapsed, and what replaced it was the full force of everything he felt, translated into the way his body moved inside hers.
She met him. Stroke for stroke. Her hand on his jaw, her eyes on his, no part of herself held in reserve. She’d spent her entireadult life calculating exits. Performing. Keeping some fraction of herself packed and ready to run.
Not tonight.
Tonight she gave him everything.
His forehead dropped to hers. Their breath mixed. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, fast and hard, matching hers. The pressure built between them—slow, enormous, inevitable—and when it broke, it broke through both of them at once.
She came with his name in her mouth and his hands on her face. He followed a breath later, his body shuddering against hers, his groan vibrating through her chest. They held each other through it, tangled together, the aftershocks rolling through them in diminishing waves until all that remained was the sound of two people trying to remember how to breathe.
He quickly disposed of the condom then lowered himself beside her. Gathered her against him, careful of her wrist, careful of her knee. She pressed her face into his chest and listened to his heart slow down.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.
He pulled the blankets over them. She felt his breathing deepen and even out. His arm stayed heavy across her waist.
She closed her eyes. Sleep pulled her under fast and completely, and the last thing she registered was the steady rise and fall of his breathing against her back, along with the weight of his arm holding her in place.
She let it.
She woke up slowly, her body pulling her to the surface in stages rather than all at once.
Fallon lay on her side, watching him sleep. He was on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other resting where it had been all night—across the space between them, his hand open near her hip. His face was slack, the stubble darker, the lines around his eyes smoothed out for the first time in days.
He’d barely slept since Chattanooga. She could see the deficit in how deeply he’d gone under, the way his body had surrendered to the mattress like it had been waiting for permission.
She eased out of bed without waking him. Her knee was stiff but cooperative. Her wrist throbbed at a low frequency she could manage. She pulled on his shirt from the floor and a pair of shorts she found in a drawer, and she went downstairs.
The kitchen was bright with early light. She found the coffee, figured out the machine, and stood at the counter while it brewed, looking out at the water through the window. The dock stretched into the flat surface like a line drawn toward the far shore.
Fishing cabin.Ha. She should’ve known immediately he had money when they pulled up to this elaborate lake house. Maybe she had. But she hadn’t been upset at all when he’d explained his background yesterday. She’d meant everything she’d said.
She poured a cup and sat at the kitchen table. Then she called Cassandra.
Cass picked up on the second ring. “Morning. How’s the body?”
“Functional. Isaac’s still asleep.”
“Mm-hm. And is he still asleep in the same bed you slept in, or a different one?”
“I plead the fifth.” Fallon took a sip of coffee.
“That’s what I thought.” Cassandra’s voice warmed. “Good for you.”
“It was good for me, Cass. I feel like everything about Isaac is good for me.” Even if she felt a little ridiculous saying the words out loud.
“I think that’s wonderful. You know that, right? That if you decided you’re going straight and clean and are settling down and having two-point-five kids, I would completely support you.”
