“Just fuck me, Rowan.”
He laughs against my throat, surprised. Then he moves. He flips me — not roughly, just purposefully, one hand guiding myhip — and I go with it, turning onto my stomach and drawing up onto my forearms and knees.
His hand curves over my hip, steadying me, and then I feel him — the broad, blunt head of his cock pressing against me, pushing in slowly. I’m so wet it’s almost embarrassing, but I don’t care. He slides in thick and stretching and I drop my face into the pillow and groan.
He’s deep.
Deeper than before, filling me in a way that makes my thighs shake.
And he hasn’t even started moving yet.
“Fuck,” he breathes behind me, fingers digging into my hip.
I push back against him, and that gets him going. He sets a rhythm, slow at first, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in, and each thrust pushes a sound out of me that I do not edit. I’m loud — louder than I’ve ever been with him — and I love it.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says, low and ragged, and his hips snap forward harder.
I gasp, pressing back into him. “Don’t stop, Rowan, even if your sister walks in.”
He laughs, in between gasps of breath. “That’s weird… but… okay.”
He keeps going. His hand slides from my hip around to my front, fingers finding my clit, and the first stroke makes me jolt. He reads it instantly, keeps it light, circling, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The double sensation is almost too much.
I can feel the orgasm building from somewhere deep, slow and heavy. He drives into me, and slow is gone. I’m shaking, my arms barely holding me up, but not daring to change position because the sensation might stop.
He pulls me back against his chest, upright on our knees, his arm banded around my waist, his cock still deep inside me. Andthe new angle changes everything. I feel him everywhere, his hand still between my legs while his mouth drags down my neck.
I come so hard my vision whites out.
His name comes out of me, loud and unguarded, and I grip his forearm with both hands as my body clenches around him. He swears, thrusting up into me twice, three more times, hard and uneven, and then he’s coming too.
We come down together and stay like that for a long, shaky moment, both breathing hard, his arm tight around me. He kisses me on the back of the head and lowers me down, pulling out, and I roll onto my back, boneless.
He lies down beside me, his hand finding my stomach, palm flat, thumb stroking idly. His chest is still heaving, and there’s sweat along his collarbone, and I reach over and push his hair off his forehead because it’s damp and falling into his eyes.
“You let me drive,” he says after a while.
“I told you to drive,” I say. “Don’t get cocky about it.”
“I’m already cocky about it.”
I shove his shoulder and he catches my hand, kissing the knuckle.
And I leave the bra on the doorknob.
Announcing myself — and us — to the world.
epilogue
SLOANE
Seb is goingto kill Ivy, and honestly, he’d be within his rights, because the Santa suit she begged him to wear is at least two sizes too small. It feels deliberate on her part, although she’d never admit it.
The velvet strains across his shoulders, the belt is cinched at a nearly indecent angle, and one sleeve has ridden up past his elbow, baring a forearm that looks like it could open a jar by staring at it. All told, he looks like a hostage in a holiday-themed ransom video.
“This is humiliating,” he says, adjusting the hat for the fourth time.
“You look incredible,” Ivy tells him. “Very jolly.”
