My walls squeeze him on purpose. He groans against my breast. Drives into me faster. His thumb finds my clit, circling in time with his thrusts.
The second orgasm starts deeper. Where his cock strokes me inside, radiating outward.
"Come for me." Ground out against my neck. "Let me feel it."
It takes me apart. Completely. Crying out against his shoulder, my body clenching around him. He follows with a guttural sound, hips jerking hard, burying deep.
Silence. Our breathing. Crickets outside.
He rolls to his side. Pulls me against his chest. One arm heavy across my waist. His heartbeat pounds under my cheek. Slowing. Steadying. He presses his lips to the top of my head.
For the first time since I started this trip, I don't want to be anywhere else.
CHAPTER FIVE
BECK
She sleeps on her stomach. Arms tucked under the pillow, one leg kicked free of the sheets, braids fanned across her shoulder. Breathing deep and steady.
Been watching for ten minutes. My chest tight with something that doesn't have a name yet, or has a name I'm refusing to use.
Seven days. She's been here seven days. My one night turned into a week, and somewhere in that week, this woman rewired my entire cabin. There are wildflowers in a jar on the kitchen counter because she picked them on our hike. A second coffee mug drying on the rack because she washed it last night before bed. Duke's rug has migrated from the fireplace to the bedroom doorway because he won't sleep more than ten feet from her.
And me. I'm in my own bed with a woman I met a week ago, drawing invisible lines on her spine with my finger while she sleeps, wondering when the last time was that I touched someone without it hurting.
She shifts. Presses back into my hand. A soft sound escapes her mouth that makes my cock stir, which is absurd because we went three rounds last night and my body should be done.
It's not done. It's not close to done. Every time I touch her, there's more. More skin to learn. More sounds to pull out of her. Last night she rode me on the porch, her hands braced on my shoulders, moonlight catching the sheen of sweat on her breasts. She came so hard she bit my collarbone. The mark is still there. I've been pressing my thumb against it all morning.
Get up. Make coffee. Stop this.
Sliding out of bed, I pull on jeans. Walk barefoot to the kitchen. Start the coffee maker. Stand at the counter staring at the wildflowers while the machine gurgles.
This is the part where I ruin it.
Not because I want to. Because I know myself. Because every good thing I've ever built, I've wrecked by wanting more of it. More floors. More ambition. More contracts with developers who said "trust me" while cutting the steel specs behind my back.
Wanting is how people die.
Dramatic. I know. But three people are in the ground because I wanted to build something great, and a man I trusted wanted to save a few million dollars, and between my ambition and his greed, a building came apart.
Coffee pours. Black.Fuck!As always it’s too hot. Burns my tongue on purpose.
The cabin feels different with her in it. Warmer. Louder, even when she's sleeping. Her shoes by the door. Her phone charging on the counter. A paperback she's been reading that she bookmarked with a leaf because she couldn't find a scrap of paper. Evidence of a person. Evidence of life happening in a space I designed for nothing.
Duke comes padding out. Looks at me. Looks at the bedroom. Back at me. Even the dog is judging.
"Don't."
He walks past me to the door. Wants out. Opening it, I watch him trot to his spot on the porch and settle with a groan. The morning is clear. Sharp blue sky, pine scent, mountain air that feels like drinking cold water. Beautiful. Empty.
My phone is still off. Hasn't been on since I got here. That was deliberate. Self preservation. But now the thought of turning it on makes my stomach clench because what if there's a message from my mother that makes me feel guilty? What if there's a voicemail from Theo that makes me remember who I used to be? What if there's a news alert about Halston Tower, another anniversary piece, another quote from the families?
What if I turn it on because Jada's going to leave eventually and I'll need something to fill the space where she was?
Stop.
The bedroom door opens. She walks out wearing my t-shirt. The gray one. Falls to mid thigh. Her braids are messy from sleep, from my hands in them last night. She looks soft, rumpled, perfect.
