“Fuck, love,” I croak out, sucking along her neck, to her breasts. My tongue teases around the hardened peak of her nipple and I pull it into my mouth with one long, hard draw. Her moan is so loud, so uninhibited that I feel like a fucking king. I barely notice that we’re in a hayloft, in a barn, somewhere in California. I only notice her and the warmth, that damn, intoxicating warmth of being really, truly inside of her, of feeling her in every way I can.
“Harder,” she says, arching her back. “Fuck. Lachlan.”
My name on her lips is a tonic. I piston my hips to drive into her deeper, my knees burning from the hay as I pound her again and again and again. Her perfect tits bounce with each thorough thrust, and suddenly there are no thoughts. No pain. No nothing, and yet everything. That feeling of falling, of realizing how good it can fucking be when you actually care about someone.
And I care for her. More than I should, more than I could ever admit.
“Lachlan,” she whispers to me but never finishes her sentence. She just repeats my name. Like I’m revered, like I’m her religion.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The flush on her face spreads to her chest and her legs quiver around my waist. She’s holding onto me like I’m about to take flight and she doesn’t want to be left behind.
I go to slip my hand over her clit, to give her the boost, but she’s already there. She cries out loudly, hips jerking upward, body shaking like a minor quake. She’s so unbelievable when she’s coming, this pulsing, writhing spirit, and I’m the cause of all of it. I’m the one who brings this little creature to her knees, to the edge.
And she does the same to me.
My orgasm sneaks up on me, like being hit from behind. It’s devastating. Stunning. I know I’m loud when I come. I know I’m groaning and grunting loudly, but from the way she’s gasping for breath and still holding tight, she feels it. I want her to feel it. To feel me.
I collapse against her, sweat dripping off my brow and over my nose. I can hardly breathe but I don’t care. I’m shuddering on the inside, completely unraveled.
This woman. This beautiful woman that I’ve just come inside of, this woman whose gorgeous, elegant neck I’m kissing because it’s the only thing to do.
I can’t leave her. I just can’t.
I stay inside her for as long as possible, until she starts to adjust underneath me. When I pull out of her, the loss is deeper than I thought it would be.
I brush the hair back from her damp forehead. “Hi,” I say softly. Because I feel like we’re meeting again for the first time.
“Hi,” she says lazily, breaking into a smile. Her hands ghost up and down my back, as if she can’t quite believe I’m here.
“I rather enjoyed that,” I tell her.
Her smile is coy. “So did I.”
“I could do that again.”
And now, now she looks pained. She swallows, running her fingertips, light and soft, up to my neck. “I could too.”
I take a deep breath, throwing all decorum away. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
She blinks, as if this idea is something new. After a beat, she says, “Neither do I.”
So then what do we do?
The answer is nothing.
But I don’t want it to be nothing.
***
“Are you ready?” Kayla asks me, surveying the hotel room one last time.
I nod, though I’m the furthest thing from ready. When we woke up, we spent as much time as possible in bed before we finally had to get going. Now we’re running a little bit late, which doesn’t bode well for me when I have a plane to catch.
Still, I can’t blame myself for dragging my feet. I’m trying to hold onto the seconds and they’re just slipping through our hands.
I grab the dog crate, my duffel bag, and we head out to the car. I planned to head back into the hotel to say goodbye to Bram and the others, but the four of them are waiting outside for us, suitcases packed.
“Sorry we couldn’t make breakfast,” I tell Bram as we come up to them.