Krista sucked in a breath she couldn’t control.
Joe’s mouth curved against her skin. “Mmm. Approved.”
Heat rolled low and sharp through her as Joe’s hand slid to her hip.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you have quite the habit of making me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Her lips curved. “And what are you supposed to be doing here, Joe?”
“Keeping things simple, not getting attached,” he murmured, low and rough.
She turned to face him, knees brushing his leg. “Simple’s overrated.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You’re probably right.”
The space between them thickened, heat curling like smoke. She walked him back until his calves hit the back of the outdoor couch. He sat, pulling Krista down with him. She readily straddled his thighs. His hands rested on her hips, steady, strong. For a long, suspended beat, neither of them moved.
“This isn’t…” she started, breath catching. “I mean, you’re not?—”
“Staying,” he finished. “Yeah. I know. I’ll be gone in a week.”
“And I’m not looking for anything. No time for romance.”
“Then we understand each other.” He smiled faintly, his thumb tracing slow circles along her waist.
She leaned in, teasing words on her tongue, before kissing him. Slow, hungry.
“Is this better than the supply closet?” she whispered.
“That depends,” he said, hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, warm against her back. “You gonna let me take my time?”
Her answer was her mouth on his.
The kiss deepened, firelight and moonlight dancing across them. His hands anchored her as the world fell away. She could taste the honey from their drinks, the smoke from the fire, the spark that had been building for days.
Her fingers slid along his stomach, feeling the hard lines of muscle. His hands moved too—one curling around her thigh, the other rising, slowly, until his thumb traced the edge of her cutoffs where denim met skin. Just that single stroke sent a shiver racing through her.
Her breath caught as his fingers teased along the hem, inching upward like he was mapping every part of her, memorizing it. She rolled her hips into him, feeling the thick, hard line of him through his jeans.
It should’ve been too much, too soon, but nothing about it felt wrong. If anything, it felt like the most right thing in the world.
He held her there, and she knew that if she let herself fall just a little more, he’d catch her. She shifted above him, her breath shallow now, her body attuned to every inch of his. Joe’s eyes stayed locked on hers as his fingers slid just beneath the denim, under the edge of her panties.
She gasped—just softly—and his breath hitched in response. His fingers teased the lace. It was just a whisper of a touch, but it sent a bolt of heat spiraling through her. He paused, his thumb circling, coaxing another breathy moan from her. She arched into him, her hands clutching his shoulders like he was the only solid thing in the world.
“Krista,” he breathed, his voice thick. “You feel so—God, you feel so good.”
Her breath stuttered. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.” His thumb circled again, slower this time. “Not unless you tell me to.”
But she didn’t. God, she wouldn’t.
Instead, she leaned down and kissed him, tasting him like she was starved for it. Her hips rocked against his hand, chasing the friction, needing more of him. His fingers found her again, slipping past the lace to stroke her, slick and soft and utterly undone for him.
She whimpered into his mouth, her body trembling. Her whole body moved with his touch, grinding down against the steady rhythm of his fingers, the heat pooling low in her belly.
And in the back of her mind—somewhere between sensation and surrender—one thought surfaced, bright and sure:There is nothing better than letting this man make love to me under the stars.
