I kissed him first.
There was nothing cautious about it.
Months of restraint collapsed in a single breath. My mouth found his, and he answered with a force that drove me backward. My hips struck the workbench. Then his hands were in my hair, my fists were tangled in his shirt, and his body crowded between my thighs.
He kissed like a man who had denied himself too long.
His mouth was hot and relentless. Rainwater cooled my skin while his beard scraped my jaw and his tongue slid against mine. I wrapped a leg around him, pulling him closer, needing every hard line of him against me.
A broken sound escaped his throat.
His hands moved over my back, my waist, my hips, learning and claiming at once. When his mouth left mine to drag down the side of my neck, I nearly lost whatever sense I had left.
The storm battered the roof.
Thunder rolled through the loft.
I remember Reid saying my name against my skin as though it frightened him.
I remember answering by pulling him closer.
Afterward, we spent nearly an hour establishing rules.
Then he kissed me again, and several of those rules became immediately theoretical.
“Noah.”
I blinked.
Reid stood beside the van, watching me.
“Where were you?”
“The September storm.”
His expression warmed. “The loft?”
“The workbench.”
“The workbench that never sat level again.”
“You damaged it.”
“You wrapped yourself around me like climbing rope.”
From the service bay, Caleb made a loud retching noise.
“Mind your business,” I called.
“Stop discussing your business at industrial volume.”
Reid reached for my jacket and straightened the collar. “The lower highway is taking water. Use Breaker Avenue.”
“That adds twenty minutes.”
“It stays above the river.”
“I know the route.”
