Heat courses through me, brutal and sharp. She’s wrapped around me like she was made for this, and it’s too much, too fast.
I grit my teeth, trying to hold the line, but there’s no line left. Every thrust shreds another piece of the control I’ve spent years perfecting, and all I can think is how easy it would be to lose myself in her. To forget the secrets. To forget the five years she kept my son from me.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” I growl against her jaw, teeth scraping as my hips piston into hers. Every thrust drives me deeper, the rug burning her back, the fire painting us in flickering gold. Her legs lock high around my waist, hauling me closer, demanding more.
“Harder,” she commands, her nails clawing down my back, and I can’t deny her.
I grind in brutally, pulling almost all the way out beforeslamming back inside. The filthy slap of our bodies echoes in the quiet night, mixing with her cries, my grunts, and the crackle of the fire.
“Look at me.” My hand fists in her hair, jerking her gaze to mine. Her eyes are wild, blown wide with need. “Look at me when you say my name, Janie.”
“Warren—” She sobs it out, her body bowing under me, desperate to take all I’m giving her.
The sound tears through me, snapping something I can’t get back. I snarl, shoving her knees higher over my shoulders. The new angle is devastating. Each thrust punches straight into her sweet spot until she’s screaming, until she grips me greedily, pulling me deeper.
Her orgasm undoes her, leaving her limp and spent, and I can’t hold back.
My body takes over, chasing hers. There’s no space left in my head for logic, for doubts, for Blake or betrayal or any of the reasons this isn't right. There’s only her, squeezing tight around me, screaming my name. And I let go. God help me, I let go.
“Goddamn,” I grit, hips losing rhythm as I pound harder, deeper, until I bury myself to the hilt. My whole body seizes as I spill into the condom, groaning her name into her throat, still grinding, still holding on like I’ll split in two if I stop.
The fire pops beside us as we collapse together, sweat dripping, breaths ragged. I can’t stop kissing her. Her jaw, her throat, frantic and messy like I’m starving for every inch of her. She cradles my face, pulls me back to her lips, and this kiss is slower, sweeter, dangerous in a way raw sex never is.
The fire throws sparks again, and she jolts under me, laughing breathlessly. Her chest heaves against mine, herskin hot and damp. The rug scratches my knees where I knelt, and she shifts under me with a wince.
“God,” she groans, half laugh, half complaint. “I think I’m going to have rug burns in places I shouldn’t.”
The sound makes me huff out a laugh against her neck, my lips brushing her damp skin. My weight pins her deliciously to the floor, but after a moment she squirms, too hot, too confined. I brace on my forearm, lifting off her.
“You okay?” My voice is raw, edges frayed.
“Raw. Sore. And very aware this isn’t exactly a feather mattress.” She drags a hand over her forehead, hair sticking damp.
I can’t help it. I grin down at her and brush a strand from her face. My fingers linger, and I know I’m in dangerous territory, because tenderness is something I don’t survive well. Sleeping with her again, after everything, isn’t just giving in to desire. It’s admitting there’s still something between us I can’t kill, no matter how hard I try.
Her throat bobs up and down, and she forces a laugh. “I feel like I’ve been rolled in honey and set next to a bonfire.”
I laugh low, still vibrating in my chest. “That’s a mental picture.”
“Sticky,” she adds, shifting with another wince. “And if I stay on this floor, I’ll fuse to it.”
I push higher, my gaze dragging over her, and damn if she doesn’t make me forget every complaint. “You’re telling me you want to move? After that?”
She bites her lip, heat sparking again. “I want a shower.”
“Together?” I ask, my grin crooked, already knowing the answer.
“Obviously.”
Her boldness guts me, and I can’t resist stealing another kiss, slow and messy, our breaths tangling. “Lead the way, Harrelson. Before I talk you into round two on this rug.”
Steam curls as she cranks the water on.
The last time I stood in a bathroom with a woman, it was clinical. There was a toothbrush on the counter, a towel folded just so. Order. Control. That’s what I thought I needed.
But watching Janie step into the water, hair tumbling, skin flushed, I realize I’ve been lying to myself. What I need is mess.
What I need is her.