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EMORY

H e’s naked when I turn the handle to the main bedroom on the boat. I barely have a second to take him in—lean lines, broad shoulders, face tight with need—before he’s on me.

His hand on my jaw, my back to the door.

My legs around his waist, his length pressed to my center.

He mutters broken curses as our lips meet, as our tongues tangle. I breathe in the filthy words, try to climb him, needing more, more, more , until I throw my head back and let him suck on my throat and grind himself against me.

His hands are at my shorts, fumbling for seconds that feel like hours.

“Fuck, Em,” he pants, “undo your shorts for me, sweetheart.” His forehead presses against the door, then his teeth are in my neck and my fingers are undoing the buttons of my shorts, and he’s right there.

So close that I whimper. So far that frustration swamps me.

I’m nothing more than animal need, so turned on I want to cry.

“I know,” he says. His eyes are on my shoulders, where he pushes down my straps with shaking hands.

“Aiden.” I dig my fingers into his arms. “You feel like heaven.” I groan as he sucks my nipple into his mouth. He’s heat and deliciously rough tongue and gloriously hard muscle under me.

He releases me with a rough pop and moves to the other breast, his hand palming my ass, his hips pinning me to the door.

“Tell me,” he says roughly before he bites my nipple, sending pleasure streaking through me like lightning.

“Get inside me,” I pant.

“Like this?” His eyes flare. His fingers push my underwear aside before he hisses a breath. “So wet for me.”

I press my head back to the door, seeking more friction with each tilt of my hips. “More, Aiden.”

His hands are frantic and his mouth is on my neck, then he’s pushing at my entrance while I claw at his back and try to work myself onto him.

“Need you,” I gasp.

“I know, pretty girl. I know.” He holds me up with both hands and buries himself inside me.

I whimper. He presses his forehead to the door for one brief moment before his hips work on a long, rolling thrust.

I cry out. He gives it to me again.

I pull his hair and he fucks me harder.

I chance a look at his face. It’s pulled tight, mouth slack.

No words this time. No endearments.

Just Aiden trying to meld our bodies together.

There’s warmth inside me, pouring through my veins. That’s the weed making me feel like I’m melting, like I can’t keep my eyes open.

But it’s Aiden making me never want to shut them.

Aiden, who looks at me like I’m the only person in his world.

Aiden, whose lips finally curl up at the edges as I start to shake.

Aiden, who covers my mouth with his palm and my body with his as he fucks me against the door.

“Wish I could stay inside you forever, Em.” His words are low and rough. I bite his hand in response, and he seems to know it’s what I need. I can’t control this.

The orgasm rolls through me, arching my back, shaking my legs, making me clench around him. His face twists as he comes. Then his lips drop to mine, his breaths panting into my mouth.

“Fuck, Em.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to my forehead, my jaw, my collarbone.

I’m shaking. I thread my fingers in his hair and hold him to me. “I know,” I tell him.

He shuts his eyes in misery, his head dropping to my chest. “I’m not ready to give you up,” he says raggedly. His lips move against my skin.

My stomach tumbles dangerously. The thought of keeping Aiden is dangerously seductive. “Two more weeks,” I whisper.

His head lifts. There’s fire in his gaze. “When you leave, I never want to meet your future husband. I will end him, Emory. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice shaky. No one could ever compare to Aiden. I don’t want anyone else. I push my fingers through his hair, and his lids drop shut.

Two weeks can never be enough.