Page 26 of Mountain Void

The pleasure was staggering. Lorenz fought for control, when his body wanted more.

“More,” she begged, her gray eyes luminous. Her hips tilted forward to meet his thrusts. “Please.”

“Fuck, Charlie.”

Gripping her hips tighter, Lorenz stroked into her. Hard.

Pressure built inside him. There was no stopping this.

“I’m not going to last,” Lorenz growled

“Good. I want more.”

More. He’d give her everything, if she let him. Because this wasn’t just sex—this was him and Charlie, together again. And they’d always been explosive in bed together.

He lifted her hands above her head, holding her easily with one of his, opening her body to his touch.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he growled, his teeth grazing her neck.

“More,” she repeated.

So he gave her more. He gave her everything he had to give. Harder. Deeper. Tilting her hips towards him so she felt every inch of his cock. Until her body told him he was hitting exactly the right place.

Her fingers gripped his hand, tight enough to hurt.

“Yes. Yes.”

There was no coming back from his. No slowing down.

Not before her. Not until she comes.

And then he felt it—the spasms around his cock, telling him she was there—giving him permission to follow.

10

Lorenz

Consciousness returned in increments. Even before he opened his eyes, a sense of charged calm filled him—his body loose in a way it almost never was, edged with a faint current of anticipation.

For a few seconds, he simply lay there, breathing.

Nothing in his life—challenges, survival, loss—could have prepared him for the night he and Charlie had just shared, the past and the present coming together in a way that felt too much like everything at once.

He opened his eyes.

The other side of the bed was empty, the pillow still dipped where her head had lain all night.

Lorenz sat up, ran a hand over his face, and exhaled. His polo shirt was nowhere to be found, but he found his underwear, pulled on his jeans, and headed downstairs, the old wooden stairs creaking beneath his weight.

Charlie sat at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She stared into it as if expecting answers to rise up through the steam.

Lorenz paused in the doorway, taking her in—the soft line of her shoulders, the wild tumble of her morning curls, the oversized polo shirt that reached half-way down her thighs.

Something primitive stirred low in his chest. He knew better than to thump his chest, but there was no denying what he was feeling.

Mine.

He ignored it, mostly.