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Bracing his arms on either side of her, he forced a gap between them, allowing him to pull out of her before driving back in. Long, slow, deliberate strokes which Fliss threatened to undo when she lifted her hips and matched him, in perfect sync, all the while skimming her fingernails down his back to his buttocks, which she grasped.
‘Faster,’ she whispered urgently.
He wanted to take more time. He couldn’t. She was driving the pace now, meeting him stroke for stroke, and he could barely restrain himself any longer. Their combined breathing became shallower, quicker, her moans louder, her hands clutching him. He changed the angle slightly to graze her just right and immediately her body shattered around him, clamping over him then pulsing as she shuddered in his arms.
And Ash could finally let go too. He drove into her one final time as his own climax overtook him. A climax like no other before. He couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He only knew his body was exploding into hers and she was riding against him on another orgasm of her own. He heard himself call out her name and then he tipped them both over the edge.
His last thought was whether he’d ever be able to get enough of this woman.
* * *
It was only later, much later, after he’d claimed her again and again, just before the first rays of the new day started to creep over the horizon, when he realised their time was almost up and he had to leave, that Ash heard himself telling her that he was returning home for a funeral. Just those words, nothing more.
‘Whose?’ she asked, the concern seeping through her voice, though she was clearly trying to keep her tone even.
Just like back in the supply room, when she’d first seen the blood on his shoulder and wondered how he’d injured himself.
And, just like then, another hairline fracture cracked through his core.
‘Rosie’s.’
Fliss looked aghast, an angry flush discolouring her skin.
‘Ash, I’m so sorry. God, how obvious. You told me about your foster mother; I should have remembered. I should have realised when I saw you in the hangar.’
‘Don’t,’ he ordered, taking her hands in his and making her look him in the eye.
‘You asked if I was okay and I said I was. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to think about it.’
‘You wanted to forget,’ she realised. ‘I was a distraction.’
He could lie to her. But he didn’t want to; she deserved better.
‘Yes.’
Instead of looking hurt or offended, however, she nodded at him with understanding. Then she fixed him with those magnificent, expressive eyes of blue and asked him if he wanted her to accompany him. Simply. Sincerely.
Another hairline crack ran through him.
He was tempted. And then he declined.
‘I’m going to the funeral to show my respect, but I lost the Rosie I knew, the mother figure, years ago, and I said my goodbyes then.’
She frowned.
‘I know you think that now,’ she offered softly. ‘But it might not feel that way when you get there. As a doctor, I’ve seen it a lot. Even if you’ve said your goodbyes, you still might not be truly prepared for the funeral.’
‘I’m prepared.’
Darkness swirled and he fought against it.
‘Ash, I know you have this self-control which you feel you can’t let go of—’ she swallowed ‘—even in bed with me. But you need to give yourself permission to feel any emotions which happen on the day.’
‘I understand what you’re saying.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘But I know what I’m doing. That’s why I bought the popcorn.’
‘Sorry?’
He had no idea why he was telling her. Part of him wanted to make her understand that he was still thinking straight, still remembering his promises to Rosie, and that grief hadn’t messed up his head. Another part of him suspected he needed to tell someone. To tell her.
