“Fucking perfect,” he says again, tracing the side of my breast. And maybe it’s because of how unflinchingly honest he was with me earlier tonight, but words I’ve never spoken aloud to any partner fall from my lips.
“They’re not real.”
It comes out apologetic, and I find myself searching his features for the disappointment I’m sure I’ll find. But the corners of his mouth lift, and he shakes his head, still breathless. “That’s a pretty bold claim to make.”
He walks me backward to the bed. When he guides me down onto my back, his hands are sensitive, exploring the curves my twenty-five-year-old self secretly hoped would tempt someone into staying for good. His warm mouth closes over my nipple with an appreciative hum, tongue flicking the hardened tip, and my spine arches off the mattress. He releases me with a teasing nip of his teeth and looks at my heaving chest like a scientist examining evidence.
“They look like a fucking fantasy. Feel like a fucking dream. But according to my data, they’re definitely real.”
I laugh breathlessly, but then he’s sliding my panties off. As he lies on his side next to me, he pins one of my legs open with his muscular thigh, spreading me. His cock nudges my hip, hot and blunt, and I bite back a moan, clenching around nothing.
“What else isn’t ‘real’ about you, Margot?” he asks, slowly stroking his hand down my trembling stomach.
I’m squirming. Biting my lips and half-crazed from his teasing. And maybe this was his plan all along, because I feel a sudden alarming urge to confess everything. To tell him that all my life, I’ve wrapped falsehoods around me like duct tape over broken glass, so no one gets hurt. But ever since my Happily Never After file leaked, that tape has been unraveling, and it spins away faster and faster every second I’m with him. Soon all that’ll be left for him are my jagged edges. My breath hitches around my answer. “Pretty much everything about me.”
He kisses me, and the moment is so soft I’m afraid I’ll break it. He pulls away enough to look into my eyes and say, “That felt real to me.”
He’s right, of course, but I don’t have the time or wits to deny it because his hand slides lower, two of his fingers parting me as I fist the sheets and gasp. They slip easily to either side of my clit, pinching gently, and my hips spasm off the bed as nerve-zapping pleasure blots out all comprehension of our conversation.
“So do your Happily Ever Afters. Your HappilyNeverAfters,” he lists, closing his eyes and gliding his nose against my cheekbone like he isn’t actively trying to kill me. His fingers glide lower, and I moan, lifting my hips in a futile plea for more. Still he teases me, tapping my wet entrance before dragging upward again to press life-destroying circles into me. “How you care for your sister. How fiercely you protect yourself. How hard you fought against this.”
A sliver of self-defense squeaks out from under the concrete wall of lust that’s sitting on my brain. “You fought it, too,” I argue breathlessly.
His chuckle is low. “Of course I fought it. Look what you fucking do to me. So jealous all the time. Begging on my goddamn knees for your forgiveness.” My breath hitches as his eyes find mine. “You launched yourself at me the first time we met, and it was like the whole fucking sun fell right into my arms. So warm, so gorgeous, I thought I was hallucinating.” His breath shudders out, and his powerful hips flex against me. “And when I realized I wasn’t… Christ, I was so fucking scared. Scared of how you made me feel like I’d come home to California while I was standing ankle-deep in snow. Scared of how badly I wanted you.” He shakes his head slightly, looking at me with the same surprised wonder of that first moment. “Of course I resisted. You’ve had my heart in your teeth from day one, Margot.”
It’s too much knowing we’ve both been losing the same fight from the second we met. I capture his words like fireflies, bottling them up to feel their glow whenever I want. When I speak, my voice is raw. “I’m not fighting anymore.Please, Forrest.”
When his middle finger finally eases into me, my body welcomesit with a brass band andWelcome Homesigns, but it’s not enough. My greedy hand goes to his cock at my hip, encircling and stroking, and he thrusts with a helpless groan.
“More,” I whisper, drowning in his dark-green eyes. He bites his lip like he can’t speak around his own need, and when a second finger joins his first, I feel just this side of too full. He sees me wince and stills. “Too much?”
I shake my head, my breathing ragged, and tighten my grip around him. By the time he’s tucked a third into me, I’m already close. When he pulls out, I moan his name, but he’s already turned to his bedside table. When I hear the foil rip, my heart goes into hummingbird mode. I’ve never wanted sex like this. It’s always been a means to an end for me—an easy hit of dopamine when life feels too hard, or, with Adam, a way to keep him tethered to me.
With Forrest, there is no endgame. It’s just an overwhelming need to be as physically and emotionally close as I can get, despite knowing we’ll be torn apart in two short weeks. It’s a terrible, reckless idea, until he rolls back and kisses me, and it tastes like reassurance. With his forehead resting against mine, he says in a threadbare voice, “I need you on top. Don’t want to hurt you.”
There is no galaxy in which this man would hurt me, but I let him pull me over his hips anyway, and in the warm glow of the lamplight, he’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen: a staggering feast of olive skin, thick muscle, dark hair, parted lips, and hungry eyes. Straddling him, I draw him to my slick entrance, and he grunts, grabbing my hips hard.
“Just go slow, yeah?” he says hoarsely.
I suck in my bottom lip, nodding quickly. “Okay.” Except, also, no. My body has a better idea, and it’sfastandnow, because I’ve never craved anything so badly in my life.
I’m shaking as I press down against him, taking the first couple of inches before a pinching burn stops me midgasp. Forrest makes a sound like a dying man, and my inner muscles flutter aroundhim like they might faint. But I need this to work. I just need him. I just need all—
“Margot, look at me,” he says sharply. His hands squeeze my hips, and I raise my dazed eyes to his.
“Slow,” he growls, his chest muscles rising and falling like he’s midsprint. I’m about to protest, but then arms the girth of birch trees are lifting me up an inch before pressing me back down. Up an inch and back down. Up and down. Up—
“O-oh my God,” I stutter, dropping my palms to his flexing chest as he manually works me over him. And fine. Maybe slow isn’t a terrible idea. Maybe slow is the best idea ever. Because soon enough, the too-big-to-fit trope I’m cursing goes from being unbearably tight to unbearably…good. So good that my hips begin moving on their own again—this time in small, needy pumps until I’m fucking him softly and he’s groaning. Falling apart beneath me.
“Forrest—” I whimper, seeking reassurance in his gaze. I’ve never been so stretched in my life. So deliciously full, or wet, or pliant. His heartbeat is wild beneath my gripping hands, his eyes desperate.
“You can take it, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Almost there.”
Somehow, he’s right. My breathing is tattered as every thick inch of him slowly disappears, until all at once, I’m flush with him. We both groan at the contact, and as Forrest arches his hips, my vision swims.
“Fuck.Fuck. So beautiful.” His words are slurred, his pupils expanding, his gaze darkening. “So fucking beautiful.”
I moan, and the roll of my hips is fretful. His hands slide to my ass, gripping and tilting me forward, like he knows exactly what my body needs. I inhale sharply, my eyes locking with his as a place deep inside me wakes up, calling out for friction.
