Page 73 of Better than Famous

She lifted her hips, taking me deeper. "Don’t hold back, Ben."

A deep groan rattled my chest. Setting a heavy, relentless rhythm, we moved together. I interlaced my fingers with hers, pressing her hands firmly against the mattress. Our chests brushed with every thrust. The friction built a scorching, undeniable fire.

This wasn’t the desperate adrenaline of a storm. It was a rising tide, powerful and inevitable.

Her fingernails bit into the backs of my hands. She matched my pace perfectly, grinding against me to chase the building pressure. Watching the pleasure overtake her features was an absolute privilege. Her eyes lost focus, fluttering shut as a sheen of sweat coated her skin. She bit her lower lip to hold back a cry.

"Let go, Sutton," I urged, my voice raspy and completely wrecked.

My words shattered her control. A sharp cry rang through the bedroom as the climax ripped through her. Her body tightened around me, violent tremors shaking her limbs. The sight of her release destroyed my remaining discipline. Driving into her hard and fast, I chased her into the light, pouring every ounce of my love and relief into the final thrusts.

A blinding, white-hot release overtook my senses. Shuddering, I collapsed forward, burying my face in the crook of her neck. My lungs burned for oxygen, my heart hammering a frantic, echoing beat against her ribcage.

We lay completely entwined for a long time. The harsh rasp of our breathing eventually slowed, giving way to the quiet hum of the air conditioner kicking on to combat the heat we had generated.

Rolling onto my side, I pulled her with me, keeping our bodies securely pressed together. My hand trailed lazily down the curve of her spine, marveling at the simple fact that she was actually here. The world outside didn’t matter. Nash’s lawyers didn’t matter. Sutton shifted to rest her cheek against my chest. Her fingers traced abstract patterns through the light dusting of hair on my stomach. A group of crickets started their nightly chorus and were soon joined by frogs.

"I love it here," she murmured, her voice thick and relaxed.

I kissed the top of her head, resting my chin against her soft hair. "I love you."

She tilted her chin up, meeting my gaze in the warm lamplight. "I love you, too." Settling back against my shoulder, she let out a slow breath. "But seriously, Ben. I could imagine myself here."

A fierce surge of hope expanded in my chest. Tightening my arm around her waist, I held her close, though my pragmatic side refused to stay completely quiet. "Nothing would make me happier. But actually pulling that off might be a little more complicated than just talking about it."

"I know." She paused, her fingers stopping their trace. "We have to discuss the reality of what my life looks like."

"I’m listening."

Propping herself up on one elbow, she stared down at me. "I fired everyone, Ben. Terrence, Margaret, the entire management team at the label. I’m taking control of my career. I’m not retiring. I have an album to finish, and eventually, I will have to tour. As much as the thought appeals, I can’t just vanish into the mangroves."

I smiled. "I never expected you to."

"I have to keep the house in Los Angeles," she continued, laying out the logistics with careful precision. "And I own a penthouse in New York. I need them for business, at least temporarily. I’ll have to travel. A lot. My life is loud, and it requires being in major cities."

She examined my face, bracing for pushback. She expected me to balk at the complication, or to retreat back into my comfortable, isolated shell.

Reaching up, I tucked a stray blonde curl behind her ear. "I have six weeks of accrued vacation time, Sutton. And the fire department operates on set schedules. Shift trades are basically currency in my line of work. If you need to be in New York for a week, I can arrange my schedule to be in New York for some of it."

Her eyes widened slightly. "You would do that? You would travel with me?"

"I told you I’m never letting you out of my sight again." A wry smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "I can handle a penthouse in Manhattan. I might complain about the traffic, and I will definitely complain about the beer, but I can handle it. Firefighters are highly adaptable."

Profound, visible relief washed over her features. She slumped forward, resting her forehead against my collarbone. "Thank God. Because I was fully prepared to bribe your Battalion Chief."

"He prefers bourbon over cash." I wrapped my arms around her back, securing her against me.

Glancing around the dim, utilitarian bedroom, the stark reality of my living situation was suddenly, glaringly inadequate for a woman who owned real estate on both coasts. The popcorn ceiling was a relic of the eighties. The closet was barely large enough to hold my uniforms and a few pairs of jeans.

"If we’re making this our home base, we might need to make some adjustments," I noted dryly. "I should probably call Chase tomorrow and have him draw up some remodeling plans."

Sutton lifted her head, her brows drawing together in a quick frown. "Remodeling plans for what?"

"For the cottage." I gestured toward the cramped bathroom. "The shower is barely big enough for one person, let alone two. And you are going to need a massive wing added on just for your wardrobe. The current closet situation is a minor tragedy."

"Don’t you dare touch a single board of this house," Sutton ordered instantly.

"Sutton, it’s nine hundred square feet of dated floors and cheap drywall."