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When my control starts to slip, I press between her legs, rubbing against her wet opening.
“Please,” she whispers, and it’s the last straw.
I push inside her, slow, careful, fighting every instinct to slam all the way home. She’s tight, so fucking tight, and I groan as she stretches around me.
She claws my back, digs in, hips rocking up to meet me. I bottom out and hold there, just breathing, trying not to lose it.
“Move,” she says, voice ragged and desperate. “Please. I need—” Her words break off in a moan as I pull back and thrust inside again, slow and punishing, every inch deliberate. The bed thuds beneath us, a steady, merciless beat.
I cradle the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair, and kiss her hard enough to steal her voice completely. I want her to feel this everywhere, tomorrow, next week, forever. No escaping it.
We find the perfect rhythm, her hips matching mine, sharp and fast, bed frame protesting under our weight. Every noise she makes sends lightning through me. Her gasps, her tiny choked-off cries, each one stokes the fire burning inside until I'm consumed by it.
I try to hold back, to fight the pull, but she’s so tight around me, hot, gripping me like she never wants to let go. Needy. Hungry. She wants me so much I can feel it down to my bones. And fuck, resisting her is impossible. I lose myself in her, swept away on the current.
She breaks first, shuddering beneath me, nails digging into my back, leaving stinging tracks. Her pussy contracts, squeezing me, and that’s all it takes. I come hard, hips jerking, spilling inside her while she rides out her own release, clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping her tethered.
When it’s over, I collapse on top of her, careful not to crush her, just breathing her in, my face buried in her neck. We’re both panting, slick with sweat, every muscle spent.
There’s nothing but the thud of our hearts, the sharp edge of our breathing, and the city’s distant hum drifting in through the window. For a long time, that’s all there is. Just us, tangled and stunned, trying to remember how to breathe.
She traces lazy circles on my back, voice soft and slurred. “You alive?”
I laugh, rolling to the side and dragging her with me. “I’m not sure.”
She snuggles into my chest, leg thrown over my waist, and sighs. “Me neither.”
“We’ll figure it out together,” I say, meaning we’ll figure everything out together.
She kisses my collarbone, eyelids fluttering. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
We collapse together, tangled and silent, nothing left to say. The world could be burning outside, and I wouldn’t care. I have everything I want, right here with her.
Then Buster starts scratching at the door, insistent and impossible to ignore. I slip out from under the covers, open the door, and scoop him into my arms. He’s all sleepy weight and soft fur, and as soon as I set him down, he snuggles right up on Iris’s pillow like he’s always belonged there. He sighs, curls in closer, and within seconds, he’s asleep again, tucked in with us, the three of us breathing slow and even in the hush of the bedroom.
CHAPTER TEN
IRIS
I wake up alone in Hunter’s bed, well, not completely alone. The beagle is up and snuffling at my elbow before I can even finish a yawn. Buster’s already in hyperdrive, tail drumming the mattress, tongue lolling like he’s just discovered joy for the first time. I blink a few times, brain still lagging behind, and scrub at my eyes. If reincarnation exists, I’m coming back as my own beagle. This guy is spoiled rotten.
The clock next to the bed says it’s early. Too early for a Saturday, but Buster is a relentless little taskmaster.
I pull my hair up into a messy bun. Then I pull on a loose T-shirt and shorts. As my impatient beagle circles the room, I slide my feet into sneakers. Buster rushes to the door and presses his little nose to the seam, vibrating with anticipation. I clip on his leash.
The second he hears the click, Buster launches himself down the hallway like he’s shot from a cannon. I have to jog to keep up. My legs are noodles, and my brain’s not even booted up yet, but this dog? Full speed. No days off.
I shuffle after him, yawning so wide my jaw cracks. I look like I went twelve rounds with my pillow and lost, but Buster acts like I’m his personal fitness coach. We hit the elevator, and he wags so hard he actually bonks his head on the door.
There’s nobody else awake in the hallway, which is exactly how I like it since I’m not even wearing a bra.
We make it through the lobby without running into anyone I know. Bless. We head out to the dog park. “You have to hurry,” I tell Buster as he starts sniffing the grass. “Daddy should be home soon.” Hunter’s been on shift since yesterday morning, and he’s due home by eight a.m. My heart does a little tap dance at the thought.
Buster finally does his business, and then it’s straight back inside.
After feeding Buster his breakfast, I head to the kitchen to make Hunter breakfast. I add grounds and water to the coffeepot. Then the machine gurgles and spits as it comes alive.
The apartment is a study in opposites. Hunter’s half is organized to within an inch of its life—remote controls at perfect right angles, shoes lined up in military formation, while my chaos is already creeping in. There’s a riot of throw pillows on the couch, a rainbow mug drying by the sink, Buster’s pizza-shaped chew toy abandoned in the middle of the living room like a land mine.
