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Then he reached past her and lifted his turnout jacket from the hook on the wall.

He settled it around her shoulders without a word.

It swallowed her. The sleeves fell past her hands, the hem brushed her thighs, and the weight of it was substantial and warm. It smelled like him. Smoke and cedar and something underneath that was just Cole, and she had to press her lips together for a moment because the scent of it did something to her that she hadn’t been prepared for, even after thinking about this for days.

Cole noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His mouth curved slightly, but he didn’t tease her. Not yet.

Instead, he took her hand and led her to his truck. The cab was dim and cold at first, but Cole climbed in ahead of her, then reached for her, drawing her into his lap as if he’d been waiting all night to finally have both hands on her.

Emily went willingly.

She settled over him, facing him, her knees bracketing his thighs, the heavy jacket falling around them both. For a long moment, neither of them rushed. Cole just kissed her. It was slow and unhurried. A kiss between two people that had nowhere urgent to be.

She trembled against him.

Cole drew back just enough to look at her. “Nervous?”

His voice was low, roughened at the edges.

Emily shook her head, though that wasn’t entirely true. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

His quiet laugh brushed warmly against her cheek. “Yeah?”

“Don’t sound so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You’re failing.”

His hands tightened at her waist, and his smile faded into something hotter. More focused.

“We can’t have you thinking about it forever,” he murmured. “Now can we?”

Then he stood before her and had her sit facing forward, the jacket falling open around her.

“Emily,” he said quietly. Just her name. Like it meant something.

He dropped to his knees on the truck floor and gently opened her thighs.

His mouth found her without warning and the sound she made echoed in the enclosed cab, her hands shooting to the seat back. He was thorough in the way he was thorough about everything—completely focused—learning her with the same methodical attention he brought to anything that mattered to him. His tongue moved against her in long, deliberate strokes, then tighter until she stopped thinking about anything except the heat of his mouth and the curl of his fingers inside her and the low, approving sounds he made when she tightened around them.

He took her right to the edge.

Then stopped.

“Cole—” His name came out unsteady.

“Not yet.” His voice rough and completely certain.

He stood and offered her his hand, switching positions so she was facing away from him, hands on the center console that separated the back from the front seat. His hand warm and steady at her hip. Then she felt him there—the slow press of him against her entrance, the pause that felt like both a question and an answer.

Then he pushed in.

Her breath left her entirely. Slow and deep and relentless, filling her so completely that for a moment she could do nothing except hold on and feel it. His hands settled at her hips under the jacket, steady and sure, and he began to move—long, unhurried strokes that built steadily, each one pressing her forward, each one pulling a sound from her she had no control over.