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His pants drop just enough, and in a two-handed frenzy he’s inside me, full and breathtaking.

My body embraces him before my mind can, stretching to wrap him in new heat, so immediate and tight that he groans against my neck, biting down hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck, Emma.”

My name has never sounded like that before.

The way he says it turns it into an entirely new element, dark and electrophoretic, and I want to live inside the sound forever.

My hips lift to meet him without a trace of restraint, and he answers every movement with one of his own, driving into me with a pace that tears straight through the polished control he wears in the office.

I claw at the back of his shirt until my nails leave arcs across his skin, and he answers by fucking me harder, giving himself over to the one negotiation he’s finally willing to lose.

Every thrust arches my back against the upholstery, driving the seatbelt buckle deeper into my shoulder until I know it’s going to bruise.

Our knees and shins collide beneath the cramped roof, my boots brace against the windscreen, and the world beyond the windows fades until all I can feel is the wet friction between us and the way he fills every inch of me.

My pussy clamps around him with greedy desperation, and he looks at me with an expression balanced somewhere between awe and a barely contained expletive.

That look unravels me even further, leaving me clawing at him, gasping his name in broken bursts, the wet slap of our bodies drowning out everything except the next drive of his hips.

He gives me everything he has, each thrust harder than the last until any idea of caution disappears beneath the relentless pace.

I find myself wanting every bruise he’ll leave behind because the heat of him sliding inside me eclipses everything else, the slick between us turning each movement into another threat to my composure.

The pressure builds so quickly I can’t hold it back, and I want to come hard, desperate and breathless, balanced so close to the edge that my legs begin to shake, my knees locking around his hips as my heels press into his ass.

I lose track of whether his composure gives way before my ability to speak because the orgasm tears through me so completely that every coherent thought disappears, leaving only the syllable of his name.

His hand rises to my throat without closing around it, his thumb tracing the line of my pulse as I come apart against him, and I feel the tenderness in that touch as clearly as every frantic movement between us.

I clamp around him, shaking hard enough that my nails rake across the sides of his ribs where his shirt has ridden up, and that’s all it takes.

A broken, involuntary moan escapes him as his hips drive into me once, then again, before he buries himself completely, and I feel the pulse of his release deep inside me, a rush so hot and private that every possessive instinct in me wants to keep it there forever.

He folds over me, breathless and shuddering, his face tucked into the curve of my neck, and I feel him laugh against my skin, surprised by the sound as much as I am.

I wrap my arms around him because neither of us seems capable of finding enough distance to do anything else.

We stay tangled together while our breathing gradually falls into step and our hearts keep pounding against each other.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bane

APRIL 10TH

The doorbell cuts through breakfast just as Babs shovels another forkful of pancakes into her mouth.

Her head snaps toward the hallway before she’s even swallowed, and she’s out of her chair almost fast enough to leave the fork behind. “I’ll get it!”

“You’ll watch me get it.”

She skids to a stop halfway across the kitchen and throws both hands into the air. “You always say that.”

“Because you treat the front door like a surprise party.”

“I check who’s there.”