“I’m not.” She steps directly into my space, her chest brushing against my ribs.
The last of my restraint snaps. I back her up hard, her feet sliding over the wood until her spine meets the heavy wooden frame of the door. I take both of her hands, guiding them up until they’re pinned against the wood high above her head. Oneof my large hands locks around both of her small, fragile wrists, anchoring them effortlessly against the doorframe.
“Are you sure?” My voice drops to a rough, gravelly whisper. “Because I don’t know how to do this halfway, and I don't want to break you.”
“I don’t think you could ever hurt me.” She arches her back slightly against the wood, a tremor running through her entire frame.
She has spent her life being the caretaker, holding the weight of everyone else’s pain. Under the heavy, dominant lock of my hand, she doesn't look trapped—she looks relieved.
“I’m going to take care of you, but we’re doing it my way. I need you to tell me that you’re okay with that.” I tilt her chin up with my free hand, my voice firm, leaving no room for doubt.
She lets out a quiet whimper, a deep shudder vibrating through her as I lean down and let my teeth gently graze the soft, sensitive skin just beneath her jaw. Her head tilts back, exposing the long, delicate line of her throat to the cold draft and my hot breath.
“I’m okay with that,” she whispers, her throat clicking as she swallows, her gaze locked onto mine.
I slide my hand down her throat, over the soft knit of the sweater, and slip it beneath the hem. My calloused palm drags slowly up her bare waist. The heat of her skin is shocking against the cold room. I freeze for a fraction of a second, my eyes searching hers in the amber gloom, reading the silent consent written in her dilated pupils.
I want this. I want it with a sudden, violent intensity that makes my head spin. It’s a hunger that has been building since the second she stepped out of the storm and onto my porch, a quiet, inevitable collision we’ve both been running from.
“Do you like that? Do you like me touching you?” My palm slides up her ribcage, slow and deliberate, capturing the rapid flutter of her heart before I cup the soft fullness of her breast.
“Yes.” Her breath catches in her throat, her chest rising instinctively to meet my hand.
“Tell me.” I pinch the peak of her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, putting a firm, demanding pressure on the hard bud.
“I like it... I like it a lot.” She winces slightly, a soft, breathless gasp slipping past her lips as she lifts up on tiptoe, pressing her breast harder into my palm, begging for the friction.
I lean down and kiss her, cutting off the rest of her words. My tongue claims her mouth with an aggressive force, setting a relentless pace. My hand slips from her wrists, letting them go, my fingers tangling in the soft knit of the sweater as my other hand kneads her breast, then slides down over her flat stomach, traveling lower.
I break the kiss, leaving her panting, and slide my hand between her thighs. She’s already slick, her heat burning hot and wet against my fingers. I slip two fingers inside her, slowly, then begin an agonizingly slow rhythm that makes her whimper.
Her face is flushed in the amber light, her eyes fluttering closed as her hips make a blind, desperate jerk upward, searching for my hand, searching for release. I work her up, bringing her closer and closer to the edge, her breath hitching in rapid, shallow pants as her internal muscles tighten around my fingers.Just as she arches, on the very brink of shattering, I slide my fingers out, holding her still.
“Please...” She whimpers, her head tossing back in frustration against the wood.
“Not yet.” I guide her small, trembling fingers down my chest, over the hard ridges of my stomach, until I press her palm firmly against my length, strained to the limit against my jeans.
“I don’t need you to be gentle,” she whispers, her fingers curling around the thick, pulsing heat of me, her eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, desperate intensity. “I just need you to touch me.”
“Are you sure?” I squeeze her hip, my fingers sinking into her skin, anchoring her against the door.
“Yes, show me. I’m not afraid of you.” She leans up, her chest pressing flat against my ribs.
I lean down and kiss her again, deeper, rougher this time, my mouth communicating the desperation in my chest. Her hands fall to my shoulders as I release her hips. My hands roam freely over her body, tracing the curve of her waist, kneading her breasts, and pinching her nipples until she’s shaking. My hand slides back down between her legs, her skin slick and wet.
I resume the torturous friction, bringing her right back up to the edge of the cliff.
“Wrap your legs around me.” I press my hands against her hips, my voice dropping to a low, demanding growl.
She lifts one leg, locking her thigh around my hip to give me better access, her hips rolling against my hand in a silent, frantic plea.
“Both of them.”
She obeys, leaping slightly, her legs locking tightly around my waist. I scoop her up, holding her tight against my chest, her smaller frame fitting perfectly against mine. Carrying her is effortless. The heat of her skin burns through the thin fabric of my shirt. I carry her into my bed, pushing the heavy door shut behind us with my shoulder.
The room is dark, save for the cool, blue shadow of the winter sky reflecting off the snow outside. Atlas is a quiet, curled shadow in the corner, sleeping through the low hum of the generator.
I lay her down onto the mattress, the bed shifting under our weight. I step back, pulling my shirt over my head, and cast it aside into the dark.
