“That you want this.” My voice scrapes like gravel. “That you want me.”
Her eyes flare. “You think I’d be here if I didn’t?”
I crush my mouth to hers again before she can say anything else. She moans, a low, hungry sound that lights me up from the inside.
Her skin is warm from the fire. I find her hips, slide upward, memorize the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts.
I kiss down her neck, her collarbone, tasting salt and sweet.
She shudders. “Henry…”
I press my hips against hers, and she tilts up, meeting me, every motion frantic and sure. I’m already trembling with the effort to keep control. She reaches between us, guides me in with a soft, startled sound.
And then—finally—there’s no space between us at all.
We move together like the storm last night, fast and hard. She clings to me, her breath hot against my ear. I grip her thigh, pull it higher so I can go deeper, until she cries out. My vision blurs as pleasure overtakes me.
It’s not pretty. It’s not gentle. It’s a rush, a tearing down of every wall I’ve tried to build between us.
When she comes, she bites my shoulder. I groan and lose myself in her.
And then?—
Silence. Only the hiss of the fire, the rain a steady patter.
I collapse beside her, my chest heaving.
She lies on her back, one arm over her eyes, breathing hard. Her lips are parted, her skin still flushed. She looks wrecked.
So beautifully wrecked.
Neither of us speaks. The firelight flickers across the cabin walls, throwing gold against old wood.
I sit up, scrubbing at my hair, suddenly aware of how small the cabin feels. My voice comes out rough. “This…wasn’t planned.”
Her arm falls from her eyes. She turns her head and looks at me. “What does that even mean?”
I drag a hand over my neck. “I didn’t bring you here to…to do this. Angie?—”
Her body goes still. “Angie what?”
I force myself to meet her eyes. “The cabin. It was her idea. Not mine.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Until?—
“We’ve been through this, Henry. Angie orchestrated it. We were both pawns in her conniving little game. But I hope you’re not sorry she did it, because I’m not.” She sits up, clutching the blanket around her.
I reach for her hand, but she pulls it back and tucks it against her stomach.
“Tabitha—”
“Stop.” Her voice is quiet, but it slices through me. “Just stop.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“Manipulate me?” she says. “Because that’s what this feels like.”
I flinch. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you.”
