We are a perfect storm.
We will ruin lives and level cities and destroy everything in our wake.
And none of it matters. Not now. Not here, in his arms.
He kisses me deeper, like he can’t get enough, his hands finding the sides of my face, holding me there without tenderness. Winding into my hair, tugging until my head falls back, totally at his mercy. He’s playing rough.
I can play rough, too.
I slide my hands down his back, around his hips, up his thighs. When I find the length of him, he’s hard as steel encased beneath the denim of his jeans. I stroke my fingers against the ridges there, reeling when I hear a needy sound rattle from his throat.
I did that. One brush of my fingers did that.
It’s a rush — knowing he’s just as affected by me as I am by him. I do it again, harder this time, feeling bold with his hands in my hair and his tongue in my mouth. He breaks away, panting, his forehead resting on mine.
“Fuck.” The sheer need in his voice is barely leashed. “We shouldn’t—”
I meet his eyes as my hand grips him. His gaze is stormy, filled with guilt and lust and a million other emotions.
“Nate,” I whisper, hand running the length of him again. Except for the ragged inhales moving his chest, he’s entirely still. “Make love to me. Please.”
He groans. His forehead hits mine again, and I feel his breaths against my swollen mouth. I press my lips to his in a lingering kiss.
“You’re going to kill me.” His voice is tight.
“I’ll make sure you die happy,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
His control snaps like a twig beneath the weight of our desire. His mouth hits mine, his hands find the bottom of my t-shirt, and then it’s simply gone, tossed across the room somewhere, and I’m practically naked in his hands. His palms find my breasts, rough like sandpaper on my skin, and I almost come apart at the sensation.
“So responsive,” he mutters against the skin of my collarbone. When his face drops lower, I nearly come up off the bed. “Like a live wire in my hands.”
My head falls back.
I feel incredible. Every part of my body feels alive, burning up with need for him. I can’t believe, after so many years of waiting and dreaming of this moment, it’s finally happening. I want to savor it, embed it in my memories so I never forget what the scratch of his stubble against my cheek feels like, or the hot breath of his sighs against my neck, or the way he touches me, like I’m glass and he’s fire, forging me into something beautiful.
His hands slip lower, to trace the band of the borrowed boxers rolled over my hips. I push up against him, so my breasts drag against his chest, and then his hand is there, against me, exploring uncharted territory with deft fingers.
“Fuck,” he groans, feeling the heat between my legs. He’s cursing but somehow, it sounds almost like a prayer on his lips. “So ready for me.”
I’m totally lost in the feeling of him. His fingers are moving faster and faster, and I feel something start to build inside me, something powerful and unfamiliar, and all I can do is cling to his shoulders as it overtakes me. I’m being swept up in a tidal wave of need. His lips find mine again and the wave starts to peak and then—
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
Someone is pounding on the door. In fact, judging by the number of strikes, it sounds like several someones.
“Goddammit,” Nate curses, pulling his hand out of my boxers.
“No!” I wail, feeling the wave recede.
So close.
“Open up, Knox! I want to see my goddamned best friend! And then smack the hell out of her for scaring me to death!”
Lila.
“We know she’s in there! You said we had to wait until morning to see her. Look outside — the sun’s coming up!”
Gemma.
“Sunshine, calm down. He’s not holding her hostage. They’re probably sleeping.”
Chase.
There’s a brief pause during which I imagine she weighs his words, then, “Open up!”