His jaw tightens. Without a word, he steps over the glass, plants himself in front of me, and lifts me off the floor.
Both hands under my thighs. Effortless. Like I weigh nothing, like this body with its full hips and thick thighs is a thing he can carry without thinking about. My hands grab his shoulders for balance. The flannel is soaked through, warm underneath from the heat of him, muscles rigid under my fingers.
He sets me on the counter. Away from the glass. Keeps one hand on my hip while the other retrieves the flashlight.
"Stay put."
He sweeps the glass. Gets the broom from the hall closet, works methodically in the dark while I sit on the counter with my heart in my throat, watching the flashlight play across thelines of his back. Rain has plastered his shirt to his body, outlining every ridge of muscle. His hair is dripping, darkened, silver at the temples catching the beam.
When he finishes, he leans the broom against the wall. Comes back to the counter. The flashlight sits between us, casting enough light to see his face. Water drips from his jaw. His eyes find mine.
Close. Too close.
"Thank you," I manage.
He nods. Doesn't step back. His hand is still on the counter beside my thigh, knuckles white.
"Naomi."
"Yeah?"
"I'm trying real hard to remember that you came here for a roof."
My breath catches. The rain is deafening on the tin above us. His eyes are storm-gray in the low light, locked on mine with an intensity that makes my skin feel too tight.
"What if I came here for more than that?"
The words leave my mouth before my brain approves them. Because somewhere between the coffee and the cornbread and the way this man holds gates open for me like it's the most natural thing in the world, I stopped wanting just shelter. I started wanting him.
Sully goes still. Every muscle in his body locks. His hand on the counter curls into a fist, then releases. Then he exhales, rough, controlled, like a man choosing between two versions of himself.
"Then I need you to say it plain. Because I won't take something that isn't being offered."
"I'm offering."
His mouth is on mine before the second word finishes.
Hands framing my face, tilting my chin up, kissing me with a hunger that steals every coherent thought. Rough. Thorough. His tongue sweeps against mine. Both my hands fist the front of his wet shirt, pulling him between my thighs until his hips press against the counter's edge.
He pulls back just long enough to look at me. Checking. Not asking permission. Reading my face, almost as if he’s making sure the ground is solid before he takes the next step.
Whatever he sees makes him groan. Low, deep. The sound vibrates against my collarbone when his mouth drops to my neck, teeth grazing the curve where it meets my shoulder.
"Bedroom," I whisper.
He lifts me off the counter again. My legs wrap around his waist. My back hits the hallway wall once, briefly, because he stops to kiss me there too, grinding his hips against me until the hard length of his cock presses exactly where I need it. Even through clothes, the friction makes me gasp.
We make it to his room. His, not mine, because it's closer. The bed is unmade. He lays me down, strips his wet shirt over his head, then kneels between my legs on the mattress. Lightning flashes outside, and for one bright second, every scar and muscle on his torso is visible. Broad chest covered in dark hair. Flat stomach. Arms that could hold me down without effort.
My blouse goes next. His fingers work the buttons with surprising patience for a man who just carried me down a hallway. When the fabric parts, his breath catches.
"Jesus, Naomi."
My bra is plain. Nothing special. But his eyes on my breasts above the cotton makes every nerve ending in my body catch fire. He unclasps it with one hand, pushes the straps down my arms. Dips his head to take one dark nipple into his mouth.
The suction is devastating. My back arches off the mattress. His hand palms my other breast, thumb circling, while his mouth works wet and relentless. Every pull sends a bolt straight to my clit, building pressure before he's even touched me below the waist.
He takes his time working down my body. Mouth on my stomach, hands sliding my jeans down my hips, dragging my underwear with them. When he parts my thighs, his exhale is hot against my skin.
