Page 86 of Dissonance

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Frown deepening, she glances up at me. “I’m just catching up a little bit. There’s no harm in that.”

“I brought you here to get away from all of that.” I close my book and set it on the arm of the sofa. “What are you working on?”

“Just some stuff I downloaded before leaving. You know, just in case.”

“Sneaky woman,” I tease.

“You’re the sneaky one for not telling me this is practically a dead zone.”

“Well, I’m clearly not doing a very good job if you’ve still managed to get some work done.” I nod to the laptop.

“I haven’t been working…much,” she says, but her voice loses some of its conviction when I hold her gaze. “Tyler has this appearance that I—”

Reaching across, I slide the laptop from her knee before she can argue, setting it under the sofa.

“Hey!”

“Mine,” I say, kicking it farther out of reach.

She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, sinking back against the cushions. I let her sulk, hiding my smirk as the cabin settles into quiet, save for the crack and shift of logs in the fireplace. I reach over, finding her ankle and resting my hand there, picking up my book again. It’s another pregnancy one, the fourth one I’ve read so far.

Thea doesn’t move, but slowly, I feel the tension seep out of her, the set of her shoulders dropping, her breaths evening, the cabin doing exactly what I brought her here to do.

“Lockie.”

“Mmm?”

“I hate that you’re right.”

“I know.”

She makes a sound that’s almost a laugh, and when I look over, she’s watching me. Shifting, just slightly, her thighs press together.

“Thea?” The firelight does nothing to disguise what’s written on her face, her throat working on a swallow as my eyes do a slow sweep of her. “Tell me what you want.”

“I…” she breathes.

My book hits the floor as I move closer, one hand bracing on the back of the sofa beside her head. Her breath catches, pupils dilating, the laptop gone from her mind.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” I say, my hand sliding to her jaw, thumb dragging slowly across her lower lip. “Or don’t. I already know.”

I brush my mouth over hers, soft at first, feeling her out. She melts into it immediately, her hand coming up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. Then she pushes, and I let her, shifting back as she moves to straddle my thighs.

The kiss deepens, unhurried and certain, and when her tongue sweeps over mine, I feel it everywhere. Twelve years of almost, and this—this—is what it was always leading to.

Her fingers find the buttons of my shirt, nails grazing my chest as she works them open one by one. My hand slides to her waist, pulling her in, the soft curve of her stomach pressing against me, more pronounced than the last time we were like this.

“Thea,” I murmur against her mouth, groaning when I hear the jingle of my belt and the slow drag of leather as she works it loose.

“You’re always taking care of me,” she whispers, fingers curling into the front of my trousers. “It’s my turn.”

I don’t move. Every instinct pulls toward taking control, making this about her. But the way she’s looking at me, this isn’t mine to lead. The button gives under her fingers, the zip sliding down, my cock hard and aching for her, hips jerking forward as she slips her hand inside.

“Christ,” I mutter, gripping the back of her neck, my thumb pressing into her pulse point and feeling it race. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she says as she slides off my lap and gets to her feet.