Page 69 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

“We should be in a bed, for fuck’s sake. You should be laid out on blankets and—and fucking rose petals, not”—he thrust with a deep groan, and she gasped at the fluttering warmth inside her—“in a goddamn shed.”

“I don’t—” She let out a whimper as the electrical current got stronger with each thrust, his hands on her ass as his movements became a bit jerkier, less fluid. “I don’t need rose petals, Duchamp,” she said on a gasp, wrapping her arms tighter around him, feeling the sweat forming between them. “You of all people should”—an involuntary whimper cut her words off again before she continued—“know that.” The pleasure continued to build inside her, and she found herself matching his thrusts, chasing the feel of it. She had never come like this before, but she had never had Ethan inside her, either—the thought alone sent her heart racing, energy thrumming through her body at the highest voltage.

Ethan didn’t respond, seeming to have lost words completely at this point, as his grip on her tightened. After a few heartbeats, and movements to match, he said, “Gem, I think I’m going to—”

She barely heard him, though, because she was already there, falling off the edge of the cliff, pressing her thighs into his hips and her heels into the backs of his legs as her orgasm washed over her like waves crashing against the shore.

He let out a protracted moan, and she could feel him, the pulsations inside that matched her own, the lurid warmth of it, and it sent further sensation through her, another little mini-death. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he turned around with her still in his arms before settling on the wooden bench that she’d initially been lying on, the one she mentally reminded herself to clean before Norman ever came back in here, sitting with her in his lap.

What now?she thought, the harshness of a postorgasm reality hitting her as the glow wore off.

She could feel his breath evening out, though his heart still pounded heavily in his chest, and his inhale caught, as though he were about to say something.

What it was, she would never know. Because in that moment, there was a pounding at the shed door that caused them to look at each other in alarm. Before they could even think to scramble, to move or dosomething, a voice came through from the other side:

“If it’s you two that have locked yourselves in there, listen up! We have a problem.”

24

Ethan glanced surreptitiouslyover at Julia as they hastily dressed, putting their damp clothes back on piece by piece, both fully aware that Maggie was just on the other side of the door, waiting for them to be done with…whatever it was they were doing.

Would it be obvious? Was it already obvious? Taking Julia in again, as quickly as he could with the five-second looks he allowed himself, he noticed her mussed-up hair, the frizz at the top settling like the down on a baby duck. The raw, red scraping along her jaw and neck from his now-overgrown beard. The flush in her cheeks that had yet to settle, a redness that always stayed on her pale skin long after the time for it had passed.

Yeah, it was obvious.

He let out an inaudible sigh, dragging his jeans on, trying not to think too much about what had just transpired. He had so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to ask—What now?Whatnow?—but it was all going to have to wait for whatever disaster had befallen the outside world while they were intheir little shelter, their own reality, for that brief moment in time.

He knew one thing, though—that whatever had occurred in here, however much they wanted to keep it to themselves, there was no way it was going to stay hidden permanently. There was no way they could move past this moment, for better or for worse. Whether it meant another decade or more without speaking or…something else, he didn’t know. He couldn’t even wrap his head around what it was he wanted from it exactly.

All he knew was that he’d been ruined. Absolutely fucking ruined.

For any other woman out there—the taste of them, the smell of them, the look and feel of them. He would have to go celibate or he’d have to somehow find a way to have her, because after this?

There was no going back for him.

“Ready?” Julia asked, running a hand self-consciously over her hair, twisting it back into a ponytail before letting it fall since she didn’t have anything to keep it up.

He stared at her now, openly, unashamedly taking her in, in all her rumpled, disheveled glory. The mussed-up honey-blonde hair, messy from his hands and the rain, the redness on her cheeks and face, the wrinkled damp clothes, stiff in some areas and too soft, too wet, in others. Small and familiar, her very face a comfort, she was imprinted on his thoughts and memories forever, for as long as he could remember and beyond. The weight of the moment hit him full force in the chest, and he felt a telltale sting in his eyes, at the end of his nose, but the shame and self-admonishment hit harder, and he was able to swallow it back.

She was looking at him expectantly, her own expressionguarded, with none of the softness, the pliant willingness, she had shown just minutes before. Now they were entering the real world again. Now she needed her walls back up. Now she needed to protect herself.

From him.

It hurt, but it was to be expected. Whatever had happened between them, whatever she had allowed, it had been just that—a concession. Acceptance and permission, but with conditions.

He realized she was waiting for him to answer, so he nodded once, briefly.

“Ready.”

* * *

Maggie had beenright to get them. The news was grim.

Julia peered outside, moving the curtain slightly before closing it again.

“They’re still fucking here,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “How is this even possible?”

Ethan sat with his head in his hands on the very edge of a chaise in the main salon area. For Julia, he knew, this sort of intrusion was less than ideal, but at least it wasn’t harmful or damaging to her business. If anything, it might even benefit her long-term. Wasn’t this exactly why she had agreed to his proposition in the first place? But for him—