Page 242 of One Wild Wish

“That can be arranged.” Another thrust of his hips, and desire snapped through me.

I dragged my hands over the grooves of his back, circled his biceps, traced his collarbones, slipped my fingers into the dip at the base of his neck. “We should stop. Anyone could come up here.”

He lowered his chest to mine, slowly, inch by inch. Warm skin. Firm muscle. He cradled my head in his hand, protecting me from the hard ground below. “You said yourself it was dark and empty. And I thought you craved adrenaline?”

“Is that what this is?”

“Oh, Possum. This is way more than adrenaline.”

He was sneaky, hinting at the truth behind my bravado. He wasn’t wrong. This was August and me, half-naked on a dark hilltop, enough history between us to fill an encyclopedia.

Instead of fighting the depths of my emotions or making a joke, I stared at him through the cover of night, wondering if he could see the extent of my feelings. They burned so bright I was surprised a blast of light didn’t blind us.

“Now. I want you now.” I didn’t recognize the desperation in my voice.

A masculine sound pushed from the back of his throat, and his lips bruised mine—a hard, hot kiss that gripped the tips of my curled toes. His tongue delved into my mouth, seeking mine, sliding roughly. Our bodies writhed, hands and lips and teeth everywhere.

Need became hunger; hunger became a frenzy. I didn’t care where we were or worry about who could stumble upon us. The darkness gave me a sense of security as he stripped off my jeans. It allowed me to pretend we were in another time and place where airplanes didn’t separate lovers. Where clocks could be silenced.

For tonight, we were limitless.

Removing his jeans took too long and only reached his knees again. I’d never had sex like this, the pushing, pulling, grunting kind where the need to join was such sweet agony. We were insane for each other. He rotated me on top of him, anchored my hips as he pushed into me from below. Again, there was no time for foreplay. No time to explore the landscape of his body, every valley, plain, and ridge I’d been denied. Too many years had been stolen from us.

Urgency colored his gravelly voice. “I’m gonna come in you, Gwen. So fucking hard. You’re mine. You’re so fucking mine.”

The permanence of him in my body was undeniable, a deep imprint every time our hips slapped. The sense of belonging was overwhelming, like every hardship could be overcome as long as I had August with me, telling me I was his.

How would that work when he was oceans away?

I banished that uncertainty to the darkness around us, focused on our limitless cocoon. I rode my man, my bra still on, the night air caressing my skin, wringing every drop of pleasure I could. Soaring. Falling. Flying. Divine thickness, hard inside me.

There was no adrenaline rush better than making love to August Cruz.

I planted my palms on his chest. “I’ll need new kneecaps by the time we’re done.”

“I’ll kiss them better,” he grunted.

I ground against him, delicious circles that rubbed me just right. “Your cock is fucking fantastic.”

“Being inside you is a fucking dream.”

“We say fuck a lot when we fuck.”

“Because it’s so fucking good.”

Good was an understatement. We were transcendental. I wanted to learn his body, each lick and bite that earned me a growl. Each shift of my hips that made him swear. Yet he was leaving me. Stop , I ordered my mind. Stop freaking out. I worked my body harder, held on tighter, my nails tasting his flesh as the edges of my orgasm bloomed.

“I’m close, Gwen. So damn close. I want you to come all over my dick.”

His dirty words enflamed my desire as he filled me, his length dragging against me in exquisite torture. I’d normally touch myself to go the last mile, to chase, chase, chase the burning ball at the end of this ride. But there was no pursuing this release.

It yanked me under, a sharp tug that splintered through me. I clenched and called his name. More fucks fell from my lips. The stars fell around me.

August dug his thumbs into my hips, holding me slightly higher, thrusting up into me in hard, fast strokes. His mouth was open, his eyes black in the darkness. “Fuck, Gwen. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, fuck .”

He jerked and shuddered, one last drive impaling me to the point of pain, but the best kind. The thoroughly used kind. The kind that eased into bliss as I sank on top of him.

“That was five fucks. For a man who writes songs, your verbiage seems limited.”