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I brace my hands on his shoulders and grip them tightly. My nails dig into his skin as his fingers work their magic.
“Haze,” I moan when he speeds up his circles. I can’t help it. He’s just that good. Don’t ask me how we both end up naked on the bathroom floor—I couldn’t tell you. On top of me, he stretches one of the condoms we keep in the bathroom cabinet down his shaft and teases my entrance, pulling back whenever he’s too close to entering me. He’s not going to stop until I’m begging, but right now, I need him.
All of him.
He’s caught off guard when I spin us around and settle on top of him. My hands find his torso, and he blinks in surprise. He reaches for my breast, but I slap his hand away, trapping his wrists on each side of his head.
“I’m in charge today,” I tease.
He’s about to say something—that’s probably very cocky—but I shut him up in a matter of seconds. I wrap my hand around his length, hold on to the bathroom counter, and lower myself onto him.
“Holy fuck…” He throws his head back with a grunt. I can deny my feelings to the end of the world, but my body missed him, no matter the stories my brain loves telling itself. The way I effortlessly adjust to his size, the warmth building up between my thighs, my reactions to his thrusting don’t lie.
When firm hands cage my waist and guide me down quick and hard, my plan to be in charge is blown to pieces and swapped with pure instinct. Haze and I have always had crazy sex, but this time feels different, like a war between love and hatred. A mix between “I love you” and “we were doomed from the start.”
I flitter my eyes shut and grip the counter so tightly my knuckles turn white. I’m confident this couldn’t get any better until he wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me down into a horizontal position. My chest comes flush with his, and the pace isn’t up to me anymore. It’s all him. And he likes it rough.
“Oh my God.” I can’t help myself.
“Quiet, baby. Kendrick could come home any second,” he has the audacity to say while he pounds into me to the point of making me forget my own name. I know he doesn’t really give a shit about Kendrick hearing us, but he loves the thought of making me feel so good that I can’t keep quiet.
I consider telling him that he’s not coming home, but I love the intensity of this moment. Here we are, going at it on the bathroom floor like animals, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more alive in my entire life.
“He’s not coming home tonight,” I finally say, and Haze stops moving so abruptly my body aches for him.
He arches an eyebrow. “And you just say that now?”
Well, damn.
Before I can even come up with a good enough response, I’m off the floor and into his arms. My legs w
rap around his hips while he slams the door open and walks into the kitchen.
“From the second we moved in here, I’ve wanted to take you everywhere in this room,” he says in my ear. Oh my… This may be the second time we’ve ever been able to have sex outside of the bedroom, and we’ve lived here for months already. His hands band around the back of my thighs, and he plants me on the freezing kitchen island.
“On your back,” he commands, and my heart skips a beat at his authority. He rests my leg up against his shoulder and runs two fingers up and down my entrance, as if to make sure that I’m still ready. With him, I always am. Satisfied with his discovery, he nudges himself all the way inside me with a thrust deep enough to make me see stars.
We both stop for that split, intoxicating second I’ve grown to love so much. That fleeting moment where we both enjoy feeling each other fully. The euphoric sensation reminding me that he’s the high I never want to come down from. He begins to move again, slowly at first, then fast.
Barely a few minutes in, he snaps, “Fuck, I need more.”
He pulls out and leads me down the island before we drop together onto the couch. Our bodies collide and the sudden closure, the weight of his rising chest on top of mine… it makes me more emotional than I anticipated. I was fine in the bathroom a second ago, but this… this isn’t sex. This is so much more. Snaking his arm between us so he can rub me in rough, precise circles, he stares deeply—deadly—into my eyes.
His burning skin feels like a cure to a disease I never knew I had. Some rare illness only he can take away. He’s the pain and the medicine, the addiction and the rehab. He’s the defibrillator and the heart attack.
And fuck, I don’t mind being sick if he’s the one to save my life.
I don’t mind being broken if he’s the one to fix me.
He slams into me repeatedly, and I can tell from the way his body shakes in waves that he’s close. I am, too. My climax begins in my toes, climbs up my legs, my thighs, until, finally, it reaches my center and my mouth drops open. I begin convulsing under him, falling apart with each thrust, and he catches on, hearing my body’s message loud and clear. Grunting, he speeds up his circles and kisses me deeper, only to follow shortly after me. He rams harder until he gives in and spills into the condom.
Like I’m his safe haven, a sanctuary where only he can go, he rests his face in my neck. I can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, but I doubt he can feel mine since he just fucked the life out of me. I’m classy, I know. He pulls out slowly and props himself up with both arms. Then, he presses his forehead to mine.
“I love you. So fucking much,” he says in a whisper.
I don’t answer, afraid—terrified—that he’s just saying that because he’s caught up in the moment. Or because I made him come. Hard.
“We’re not done. Give me fifteen minutes.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. When he gets off me, lies back on the couch, and leads me into his arms, I never want to leave them. I still love him.
