Page 108

The firelight paints her in gold and shadows, and when I pull back to look at her—really look—I think my heart might split open. She’s so beautiful like this. Flushed, breathless, eyes dark with want.

Her hands slip under my shirt, and I shiver at the first brush of her fingertips over my bare skin. She’s slow, careful, even as the heat builds. Like she’s memorizing me. Like this means something more.

It does.

I lean in, brushing my lips along the edge of her jaw, trailing down to the tender place just beneath her ear. She shudders when I kiss her there, and I smile into her skin, emboldened by the way her breath catches.

Roan’s hands skim my ribs, tracing every line like she’s mapping them, committing them to memory.

For a fleeting moment, a thought flits through me:someone could stumble across us.We’re just off the main road, half-clothed in the woods, breathless and tangled in each other. But instead of pulling back, the thought thrills me.

Let them see. Let the whole damn world see.

Roan ismine.

Her hands slide higher, cupping my breast, and I moan softly against her neck. My hips keep moving, slow and seeking, grinding against the heat between us as her fingers tease and play, sending sparks through me. My body aches. Wet. Desperate for more.

I fumble with her shirt, peeling it up and off, and she lifts her arms to help. We break apart just long enough to toss the fabric aside. My eyes trail over her chest—strong, lean, scarred. Beautiful. My fingers trace one of the marks, following it until it leads to the curve of her breast. They’re smaller than mine, firm beneath my palm, and I keep moving, keep rocking against her, needing that friction, that closeness, thatcontact.

“Roan,” I breathe, brushing my lips over hers, “I want to try something.”

Her brows rise slightly. “Here?” There’s a flicker of surprise in her voice. “What if someone comes upon us?”

I smirk, mischievous and already pulsing with want. “I thought you weren’t the type to worry about what’s proper.”

“I’m not,” she says with a small growl, fingers gripping tighter at my waist. “But that doesn’t mean I want anyone elselooking at you.”

My laugh is soft and wicked. “Jealous?”

“Damn right I am.”

I work the rest of her clothes off—her breeches first, then her underwear—kissing a path down her stomach as I go. She groans, hips twitching under my touch. Then she grabs the hem of my dress, tugging it upward. I raise my arms, and she helps me slide it over my head. My skin feels fever-warm, flushed with need.

I climb back over her, straddling her hips. Our breath mingles. Our chests brush. My knees settle on either side of her, and my core hovers just inches above hers.

Gods.

I canfeelher heat. Slick. Waiting. It makes my pulse stutter.

Then our bodies brush. Just barely. Her wetness grazes mine and I gasp, hips jerking.

“Oh, gods,” I whisper, eyes flying open—and hers are already on me, blazing. Intense. Like I’m the only thing she sees.

When our pussies slide together again, wet and hot and perfect, I cry out. My slick mixes with hers, and the scent of it—raw, intoxicating—floods the air. My hands grip her ass as I grind down harder, faster, gasping with each brush of her clit against mine.

Her voice is low and dark when she says, “My turn, Mouse.”

Then she moves—flipping us easily, breaking contact—and I whimper, already missing the friction. She swallows the sound with a kiss, firm and possessive, then presses me gently back to the ground.

She looms above me like something wild and divine—hair tousled, lips kissed raw. A goddess with hunger in her eyes.

I shiver.

She shifts, thigh sliding between mine, and pulls me closer until our cores touch again. Her hips roll—slow, devastating—and I can barely breathe.

Our slick centers grind together, perfectly aligned, and I arch up into her with a moan. Wefit. Like this was always waiting for us.

She rotates her hips in tight, aching circles, her clit catching mine just right, over and over, until I’m keening beneath her.