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It’s too good.
Too urgent.
And when Griff squeezes my thighs hard enough to bruise, I hiss with pleasure; when I bite down on his shoulder, he makes a rough noise in the back of this throat. We’re lost to each other, feverish and wild, and it’s sticky and primal and perfect.
“You’remine,” he says again, breath misting hot against my cheek.
“Uh-huh.” I yank harder on his shirt. “Thenshow me.”
In the end, it happens so naturally. Crests over me like a wave. One minute I’m clinging on to Griff’s shirt, whispering filthy nothings against his throat, feeling the thick, wet slide of his cock between my legs. The next, he slides a hand between us, his thumb finding my clit, and then…
Heat roars through every inch of my body. It’s a wildfire, ravenous and searing, and I’m left shuddering and gasping for breath, twitching and moaning in Griff’s eager hold. He lets out a savage sigh of triumph, kissing me so hard my head tips back, and then one, two, three thrusts later, he stills inside me.
Twitches and swells.
And spills wet heat deep in my core.
It’s so delicious, I nearly tip over the edge again, letting out a strangled groan and pressing my forehead into his shoulder. It feels soright.The jagged pieces inside me finally slot into place.
Ten minutes and one unlucky spare shirt wiped between my legs later, Griff tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Ready to go home, Luna?”
Like you wouldn’t believe.
* * *
Three years later
“Okay, cast your line. Watch your hook, just like I showed you. Nice and easy and—yeah. Just like that.”
Griff’s a good teacher. I hide a smile as I peer out at the river, ripples spreading from where my line just dropped.
“Alright. Now what?”
“Now we wait.” He sounds amused. Damn him. “Or are you in some kind of hurry, city girl?”
Whatever. I poke my tongue out at my husband, grinning when he laughs, then sink back into one of the chairs he set out for us on the river’s edge. It’s a quiet spring day, the breeze cool and floral, and the mountains are waking from their deep winter sleep.
“When you go out fishing for hours, I always picture you working harder than this, you know? Wrestling giant salmon into submission. Maybe hunting with one of those long spears.”
Griff smiles faintly as he notches my rod into a special stand, leaning it upright so I don’t need to hold on. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“I bet chopping wood is easy too.”
“Probably.”
“And Mountain Rescue.”
“Anyone could do it.”
“Thought so.”
I sigh happily, plucking at my green dress where it rests over my baby bump. Not long now, and then our cabin will be a lot less restful. Messier, too.
Don’t care. I’m so, so excited. Every time I feel a little kick inside my belly, I practically float up to the rafters with love. Will the baby like fishing?
“Quilting, on the other hand.” Griff frowns out at the treeline, aggrieved, as he settles into his own chair. “That was… harder than I expected.”
Ha. He hasnoidea. I gave him the easiest possible thing to make, and he still went through some kind of fabric-based trauma. Kept cursing under his breath and stabbing himself in the thumb with a needle, bitching about how it was all so fiddly.
