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It took a lifetime.

It was a revelation, a terrible mistake.

It was perfect.

And as he sheathed himself inside her, Jonas felt completely naked. Even though he knew that he was the one who was still dressed.

“Wait wait wait,” she whispered fiercely, but she didn’t quite make it through the last word before she was arching against him, shaking and shaking, crying out the kind of pleasure he would have said couldn’t exist.

It was too real. Too raw.

Perfect, something in him said again.

When she rocked forward, dropping her head against his shoulder, she was half panting, half laughing.

And Jonas felt drunk on this. On her.

He could die right now and he would actually be happy, for once. Buried deep inside her, where she was so soft, so hot, sohis. Her mouth against his neck, all of the power and strength that was Bethan Wilcox spent and sweet and in his arms.

He could hear the alarms inside, telling him to stop now. While he still could. Telling him that it was already too much of a good thing, and that always ended badly.

But instead, Jonas wrapped his arms around her, widened his stance, and began to lift her. Then lower her.

Slowly, at first.

Slowly, as she shuddered against him and flexed a little bit, as if she were going to fight him for control. He knew the exact moment she sighed, then surrendered.

He lifted her, then dropped her, and both of them groaned when the friction and sensation ignited between them, bursting into flame. Then burned, over and over again.

For a long while, there was only that fire. That friction. The look on her face, soft and intent and wild.

And that heedless, hedonistic roar inside him that he’d never felt before. He’d never let it out—he’d never let it get close to his skin. He’d never set himself free like this.

But this was Bethan, and there was no other way to have her. No other option.

Jonas built up his rhythm, prepared to carry on forever, and loving that though he was controlling the depth and the pace, she was anything but passive. He could feel the sleek muscles in her thighs as she helped lift herself, then gripped him hard on the downstroke.

God help him, but it was as if she had been built for him. Built for this.

And that knowledge didn’t strike him like a bolt from the blue. It was obvious. Hardly worth mentioning.

If he was honest, he’d known that the very first second he’d laid eyes on her on a base in a foreign country when they’d both been different people. He’d made different choices then.

This was here. This was now.

If he could have, he would have kept going forever.

But her breath started to catch. All that California sunlight poured into the room and he could see the way a flush washed over her neck and breasts, a glorious tell.

And this time, when she tilted her head back, clamped down on him, and lost it, he found himself jumping off that same cliff behind her.

Because the bottom was going to hurt, he knew that, so at least they could fall together.

He staggered with her to the couch and sat down. Hard.

And for a long while, there were only the two of them, still wrapped around each other like that. He tipped his head back and kept it there, so he could stare at the ceiling as he fought to get his heart rate back within normal limits. Bethan was still gripping him. Her arms were around his neck, her legs around his waist, and she was still holding him deep inside.

He could feel her heart and his as they both beat wildly. It felt the way he’d always imagined joy would.