Page 54 of Tempted To Be Mine

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Damn, woman. Just let go. Stop fighting it.”

I moaned and writhed under him. And then I felt the tingling in my toes and my fingertips that was all pleasure. “Jeremy!”

“There you go,” he said, applying just a little more pressure.

My body exploded into a million pieces. I saw stars. My legs snapped closed, trapping his hand right where it was. It took several glorious seconds before I could breathe again. And then his hand was gone.

I heard the tear of the packet. I forced my eyes open and watched him roll the condom on. The sight of him like that, flushed and focused and hard for me, made me ache all over again.

“Come here,” I said and pulled him down.

He pushed into me in one slow, thick thrust that stole the air from my lungs. I clutched his shoulders. He held still, forehead pressed to mine, jaw tight.

“Okay?”

“Yes.” I rolled my hips, taking him deeper. “God, yes. Move.”

He did. Long strokes at first, then harder when I dug my heels into the backs of his thighs and told him not to be gentle. The fire popped. The cabin creaked. None of it mattered. There was only the feeling of him inside me. I met every thrust. I wanted all of it. The professional line, the morning-after speech I was going to have to give myself, could wait.

He angled his hips, pushing himself up on his arms, and stared down at me. I slid my hands up his strong arms and then his shoulders. He did a slow grind that had my eyes rolling back in my head. And then he sent me over the edge once again. He groaned, rhythm breaking, and buried his face in my neck as he followed, hips jerking while animalistic sounds erupted from the depths of his soul.

For a long moment neither of us moved. His heart hammered against my chest. My legs were still locked around him. He lifted his head. His hair was a mess. His mouth was swollen. He looked wrecked, which told me I probably looked ten times worse.

I touched his jaw because I didn’t trust my voice yet. His weight kept me pinned to the coats, and the heat of him was comforting. But I was reeling from the choice I’d just made.

I didn’t regret it.

Not yet at least.

18

JEREMY

Ilay there for a minute, maybe two, trying to get my brain to work again. Lucy was curled against my side, her breathing uneven. My heart pounded like I’d run a marathon. I stared at the ceiling of the cabin and tried to process what had just happened.

This wasn’t just some random hookup. This was Lucy.

My manager. My friend. The person who kept my entire life from falling apart on a daily basis. The woman I’d trusted with everything for years. And I’d just had sex with her on a pile of coats in an abandoned cabin in the middle of frozen nowhere. Every single one of those things should have been a clue not to do what I did.

And I did it anyway.

I should have been freaking out. Part of me was, a little. But a bigger part of me felt something I hadn’t expected. Calm. Rightness. Like us having sex was inevitable. It didn’t feel like a mistake.

That scared me more than the freaking out would have.

I turned my head to look at her. She had her eyes closed. I didn’t know what that meant. Was she regretting it? I had given her an out. She had chosen this. She had wanted it as much as I did. And her body’s reaction didn’t lie.

We needed to talk about this. We couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened. Lucy wasn’t the type to sweep things under the rug, and honestly, neither was I. Not about something this big.

I opened my mouth to say something. I wasn’t even sure what. Maybe something about how I’d been feeling lately. How waking up with her on the couch had shifted something in me. I wanted to tell her it hadn’t been just physical, at least not for me.

The sound of an engine cut through the silence.

Lucy’s head snapped up. Her eyes met mine, wide with alarm. We both heard it at the same time. The unmistakable whine of a snowmobile approaching. Getting closer.

“Shit,” I said.

We scrambled apart like teenagers caught by their parents. Lucy grabbed for her clothes, pulling on layers with a speed that would have been impressive if I wasn’t doing the exact same thing. Thermal shirt. Fleece. Sweater. I yanked my jeans up and fumbled with the button while she wrestled her boots back on.