Page 43 of True Ruin

This exact moment was not the time, but she wanted him.

And nothing was going to change that. Not Cairo, not the fact he was leaving in twenty days, not his fear—or hers. He was full of secrets, and she longed to know every single one. It might take years to discover them, but she was willing to try.

As she gathered up her son to put him in bed, Gabi decided three things.

The friends agreement wasn’t working.

She wanted more love notes.

And she needed her pricey thong back.

Dallas wokeup in a tent outside Sarajevo, the city under attack, rain ticking against the canvas, someone’s radio hissing in the dark. He jerked himself up onto one elbow, searching for his rucksack.

But…no.

The air smelled like vanilla, not cordite. There was no grit between his teeth. He could hear crickets chirping. He had a pillow under his head, a patchwork quilt over his legs. Her mouth was at his neck, breath minty, teeth nipping, her hand rubbing his cock through his jeans with enough purpose to drag him the rest of the way awake.

The day came rushing back.

Sam faking sick. PB&J. Juice boxes with tiny straws. Steve and his blue dog. A pillow fight. Gabi’s picture on the refrigerator.

In the present, his cheerleader was crawling into the blanket fort and over him.

“Shh,”Gabi whispered, covering his mouth with her hand.

Fuck,yeah, he could go with this fantasy.

Impressions came at him in pieces as he lay back, stunned, drowsy. Her knees locked on either side of his hips. A lace-edged nightgown. No panties. Her tongue playing with his.

His hand found the back of her head, pulling her deeper into the kiss.

He loved kissing her.

“Gotta be quick,” she breathed in his ear, working him free in an impressive display of dexterity. She’d gotten good at ripping open his button-fly. “Sam’s a heavy sleeper, but still.”

Dallas only hummed, speech lost, and reached to help her roll a condom on.

“I used lube, too.” She giggled, something he’d only heard her do during sex. “So we could cut to the chase. You’re the king of foreplay, but no time.”

The image shaved several minutes off his expected performance; this promised to be quick.

Instead, it was glorious. Fun. Messy.

Fast, furious,hot.

In the span of a spent breath, she moved from amused to frenzied, braced one hand on his chest and took control, rising over him before sinking down with a speed he never would’ve asked for and instantly wanted more of. He grasped her hip, but didn’t slow her. Let her set the pace. Let her use him exactly the way she wanted.

Her nipples were pink-edged and hard beneath silk. He cupped one breast, rolling the tip beneath his thumb as he watched her arch and ride him harder. Her head fell back. Her golden hair draped over her shoulders, lips parted on a groan, and the sight nearly finished him.

When he was close—and her hoarse, nearly inaudible whimpers told him she was too—he rolled her beneath him, then onto her stomach. He came over her from behind, hand braced beside her shoulder, the other covering her mouth as he slid inside her. Her cry broke hot against his palm.

He couldn’t quite abandon his pattern, his preference, slowing his thrusts, then driving into her, working them both into a fury.

“King of foreplay,” he whispered on an agonizingly lengthy stroke.

His vision beginning to dim, he seized her clit between his fingers and gave it a tender pull, a harder push,herpreference. Her body tightening around him as he buried his face against her shoulder to smother the sound of his release riding on the heels of hers. He kicked out, biting her neck, and the tent gave way, blankets collapsing over them.

They lay tangled beneath it, gasping. Gabi’s laughter came seconds later, her body loose and dazed against his.