Page 97

His jaw tightened. She watched him try to reject it the way he’d rejected her words about second chances in the gym, and she watched him fail. His hands came up and covered hers where they rested against his chest. His eyes were bright, and he nodded once, barely, as though the words were too heavy for anything more.

His hands slid from hers up her arms, his bandaged fingers trailing along her skin until they reached her face. He held her jaw in both hands and kissed her, and it was different from every kiss before it.

There was no desperation in it and no holding back. Just his mouth on hers, steady and unhurried, and she felt him stop fighting what she was offering.

She stepped into him, and their bare chests pressed together. The contact ran through her like a current. His arms came around her and hers went around him and they stood there, skin against skin, in the middle of her bedroom while the last distance between them closed.

She reached for the nightstand and found a condom in the drawer. She tore the wrapper and rolled it on him, feeling his whole body tense under her hands, a shudder running through him.

She pulled him down to the bed with her, next to her, facing her, close enough that their bodies pressed together from chest to knee.

He kissed her throat. His mouth moved slowly, following the line of her neck down to the hollow at the base, and she tipped her head back to give him room. She could feel the roughness of his stubble against her skin, the careful pressure of his lips, the way he paused at her collarbone and stayed there until her fingers tightened in his hair.

This was different from before, heat still coursing through them both, but now with a connection that went further than just desire.

She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his back, learning the landscape of muscle and scar tissue, feeling him respond to her touch with a tension that had nothing to do with restraint. She hooked her leg over his, felt him hard against her, and pulled him closer.

He paused. Looked at her.

She nodded.

He slid into her slowly, and her breath left her in a rush, her fingers digging into his shoulder. He pressed his forehead against hers and held still, his chest heaving with the effort of it. She gripped his shoulder and waited for the fullness to settle, the stretch becoming a fit, and when it did, she rolled her hips against him and he groaned low in his throat.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, eyes locked, barely moving. His hand rested on her hip, and they breathed together. Days of silence and distance collapsed into the space between them.

Then she shifted her hips and felt him respond, and they found a rhythm that was slow and unhurried and entirely their own. He slid his hand up her back, tracing each vertebra, and she pressed her lips to the base of his throat, tasting salt on his skin, and felt his pulse jump under her mouth.

She could feel him holding back. Even now, even inside her, he was careful, keeping his weight braced on his forearm, keeping his movements measured so she could set the pace. She tugged his hip toward her, pulled him in, and felt the exact moment when his restraint slipped and his body moved against hers with an urgency that belonged entirely to him.

He cupped the back of her neck, and she pressed into it, the weight of his palm steadying her in a way she hadn’t known she needed. She dug her fingers into his shoulder again and held on because she wanted him to feel her there.

This was different from the lodge. At the lodge, she hadn’t known who he’d been, and the not-knowing had been its own kind of freedom.

This was choosing him with her body, the same way she had with her words, and it was just as powerful. It made every point of contact between them feel earned.

His mouth found hers and his hand slid between them, and the sound she made against his lips was involuntary. He knew her body and used that knowledge now with a patience that undid her. His fingers moved in slow circles, and she felt the heat building, pooling low and heavy, her hips pressing into his hand. Her thoughts were dissolving.

The careful, cataloging part of her brain that never shut off was shutting off now, overridden by sensation until the only thing she could process was his body against hers and his hand between them and the slow, relentless build toward something she couldn’t hold back.

Her thigh tightened around his hip. Her fingers gripped his back. She pulled him deeper.

Her hand found his face and held it, her palm against his jaw, her thumb on his cheekbone, and she kept her eyes open while his hand moved and his body rocked against hers. His eyes stayed on hers, and all the things she’d been afraid she might find there—calculation, distance, control—were absent.

There was just him, present and wanting and hers.

His hips rolled into her and his fingers pressed, and she felt the wave building in her legs first, then her stomach, then everywhere, spreading outward until she couldn’t tell where her body ended and his began. She held his gaze because closing her eyes would mean hiding, and she was done hiding from him.

She said his name when the orgasm broke over her, and his arms pulled her tight against him and he followed, his face against her neck, a sound torn from his throat that was raw and unguarded and nothing he would have ever let anyone hear.

They lay tangled together afterward. His arms around her, her face against his chest, their legs intertwined. His heartbeat slowed under her ear.

She pulled him closer. His arms tightened. His mouth pressed against the top of her head and stayed there.

They were both finally where they belonged.

Chapter 28

Four hours on a steel plank, and his right knee had stopped complaining and moved straight to threats.