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My other hand works quickly, pulling the zipper down all the way. I slide my hand under the jumpsuit—and discover she isn’t wearing any panties.

“Fuck, Sierra,” I mutter, biting her bottom lip hard enough to make her gasp and careful not to kiss her, “no bra, no panties.”

She chuckles softly—hot against my mouth—as she brushes her hand against me again. This time lower, bolder. Slowly, deliberately, she unzips my pants and slips her hand inside.

I watch her closely, every muscle in my body going tight.

Waiting.

Our breaths match now—shallow, fast, desperate. That same rhythm we’ve always fallen into whenever our bodies remember how good we used to be.

I move my hand just enough to slip my fingers between her legs, and instinctively, her whole body trembles in my arms. I have to tighten my grip just to hold her steady.

Her hips shift, searching for more.

I bury my face in her shoulder, letting my breath caress her skin gently through her hair. She smells like mine.

At the same time, she shifts her hand and places it right around my cock, sliding it once—up and down—and that’s the moment I lose control.

I push fully into her, biting down hard on that tattoo that drives me insane. Slowly, I trail my tongue upwards, leaving wet kisses, until I reach her ear.

My hand grinds softly against her clit, drawing teasing circles around it—intentionally avoiding her sensitive spot. I feel her shift, as if resisting my touch, but I lean in closer and let my breath whisper against her ear, continuing to tease her.

“What, Sierra?” I ask, amusement mixing with unfiltered need. “What are you looking for?”

Her body answers before words do—shaking, craving, burning. Every tremor, every quickened breath pulls me deeper into this consuming fire between us.

She’s fragile and fierce all at once, and the way she lets herself unravel under my touch makes my control slip.

I want to drown in her, lose every last piece of myself in this moment, in her.

But then, my mind screams—“Don’t lose control. Not now. Not after all this time.”

This isn’t just desire—it’s pain, regret, false accusations. If I dive in too deep, I’ll drown in it all again.

Still, my body betrays me. I need her. More than I’ve needed anything in my life. And even if this is madness, even if this is dangerous—right now, holding her like this, feeling her tremble in my arms—I don’t care.

Because this fire between us? It’s the only thing keeping me alive.

“Oh, baby. Two can play this game,” Sierra whispers against my ear, her voice soaked in heat and challenge.

Her breath is warm, wicked, and the movements—slow, controlled, deliberate—while her mouth wraps gently around the curve of my earlobe, sucking just enough to make my spine arch.

My cock jerks hard in her grip, every throb echoing the slick, purposeful glide of her fingers. She strokes me slowly at first, torturous and teasing, then with growing confidence—like she wants to ruin me.

And she’s fucking succeeding.

Her lips are still at my ear, velvet and demanding, and the low moan that slips out of her throat is pure sin. It vibrates straight into my skin, curling heat low in my abdomen.

I slide a finger into her, and her body reacts like I’ve touched a live wire.

She stiffens for a second—eyes blown wide, chest rising fast—then a shudder ripples through her, involuntary. Her muscles clench around me, hot and pulsing. She’s soaked—melting against my hand like she’s seconds from unraveling.

God. Every inch of her is wildfire. Uncontrollable. Consuming.

I pull back just slightly, needing to see her face.

And there it is—blazing want, desperate and unfiltered, written all over her. Her mouth parts, her breath shaking, and I know she’s about to kiss me.