The rhythm turns frantic, desperate. Every thrust sharper. Every breath ragged. Until there’s no stopping it. Heat detonates through me, violent and blinding. I groan into her mouth as I spill inside her, hips jerking, muscles seizing with the force of it.
She comes with me, clinging hard, nails biting into my skin as her body trembles around mine. Each pulse of her orgasm milks me deeper, her thighs shaking against my hips, her breath breaking against my shoulder.
I hold her tight, eyes clamped shut, riding it out until there’s nothing left but the shudder of aftershocks.
The room falls quiet except for our ragged breaths. Her chest heaves against mine, my heart hammering in time with hers.
Then the silence of the house presses in—the tick of the clock, the walls too thin, her parents asleep just downstairs.
And reality slams back, brutal and cold. I’ve just crossed the one line I swore I never would.
As if she can read my mind, her hand slides to my jaw, forcing my eyes to hers. There’s no hesitation in her smile, only heat and challenge.
“We’re both adults, Warren,” she whispers, her breath still ragged. “It’s not wrong. Not if we don’t let it be.”
I let out a rough laugh, my body still thrumming from the aftershocks. “Hell, it felt a lot more right than wrong.”
Her grin sharpens, wicked and sure. “Exactly.”
I collapse beside her, sweat and guilt and ecstasy tangled into one. The family that saved me is just downstairs, trusting me, and I’ve broken that trust with the one person I can never have.
For the first time in my life, I’m terrified of what I want.
THREE
Janie
I blink awake, squinting at the pale gray light filtering through my old bedroom curtains.
For a moment, I'm disoriented. This familiar childhood room is suddenly different. Then my body registers the delicious ache spreading through me, and memory crashes back.
Warren.
My thighs are sticky and my muscles sore in places I never knew could hurt. Every throb between my legs pulses with flashes of last night. Warren's fingers digging into my hips, his mouth hot against my skin, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress until I came apart.
I turn my head slowly, afraid he might be gone. But there he is, sprawled on his back beside me, one arm flung above his head, chest rising and falling in deep sleep. The sheet barely covers his hips, revealing the lean muscle of his torso.
In this soft dawn light, the hard angles of his face have softened. His mouth, usually set in that serious line, is relaxed, almost vulnerable.
Warren Carter is in my bed.
My heart hammers so loudly I'm surprised it doesn't wake him. I've imagined this moment for years, not that I'd ever admit it, but the reality is so much more overwhelming.
My fingertips hover above his chest, wanting to touch but afraid to break the spell.
What have we done?
A mix of awe and panic swirls in my belly. I should regret this. I should be calculating all the ways this will complicate everything. But my body still hums with satisfaction, with the memory of how perfectly we fit together.
My hips reflexively pulse toward him, seeking his pressure on my hungry center. I'm wet for him, and if this were any other time, in any other place, with any other man, I would wake him for another round.
Blake will lose his mind if he were to ever find out. Mom and Dad... Oh, god.
The clock downstairs ticks, suddenly too loud in the quiet house. My parents. Just downstairs. Probably already stirring.
My stomach lurches as urgency floods through me. I need to get Warren out before anyone sees him here.
I place my hand on his shoulder, relishing the warmth of his skin beneath my palm. "Warren," I whisper, hating that I have to wake him when he looks so peaceful. "You need to get up."