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My walls clenched around him as I rocked restlessly against him.

“Give me a minute here,” he murmured, leaning down to nip my earlobe. “You feel too fucking good.” My hips rocked up further, dragging a desperate groan out of him. “Trying to take my time with you.”

“Don’t,” I demanded.

He lifted up, looking down at me with wild eyes.

“Sure?”

“Yes.” I’d never been surer of anything in my entire freaking life.

The thread snapped.

And then he was fucking me.

Hard and deep.

The bed creaked in objection, but the sound was quickly muffled by my cries and his groans as we moved together, as we drove relentlessly toward that cliff.

Then we both fell, crashed, shattered together.

Coast’s body came down hard on mine as my own continued to shake as the pleasure seemed to pump through my very veins.

I sucked in a greedy breath when the climax finally loosened its grip on me, and I could feel the way Coast’s lips curved into a smile against my neck at the sound.

I couldn’t even fault the guy.

He’d earned that smile.

I clung to him afterward. For just a moment, I wasn’t going to worry about being too needy, about what Coast might be thinking.

There would be time for thinking—andoverthinking—later.

Right then, I just wanted to feel.

Eventually, Coast threw his weight back, but he took me with him until we were both lying on our sides.

Some part of me expected him to pull away then, to get some distance, to say he was too hot, that he had things to do, that he couldn’t waste time cuddling in bed.

Old conversations.

Old traumas.

But Coast’s arm went lazily around me, keeping me close, trusting that the air conditioning would cool us eventually.

“Do all these have meanings?” I asked, my finger tracing over one of his tattoos.

“Figure all of ‘em do. Some just might not have deep ones.”

“What’s this one then?” I asked, finger moving around the outline of a big blue diamond, then over the wordLuckyabove it.

“Lost a bet,” he said, shooting me a smirk when I looked at him. “It’s ironic.”

I figured the one that featured a skull half-drowned in a whiskey glass—with a lemon garnish—was pretty self-explanatory as well.

“Is this the year you were born?” I asked.

Coast’s brows pinched, and he leaned over to look at what I was glancing at.