It was amazing. It was wonderful.
It was too much.
And when he whispered, “Come for me, Laurel,” she burst.
Her climax ripped through her in waves, her entire body trembling as she cried out, her palms hitting the tile in front of her as the storm shattered every last thread of control.
He held her through it, grounding her with his strength. When she could breathe again, he turned her gently to face him before drawing her close, and she happily rested her cheek against his chest, panting, boneless.
He was a furnace, all power, warmth, and restraint. But the way his dark eyes searched hers as she looked up again sent a fresh pulse of heat low in her belly.
“Wow,” she breathed. “You…are…”
“Not done,” he said, voice rough and deliciously sure.
Before she could respond, he eased her back against the wall. She reached for him, but he stepped away long enough to grab a condom from the wallet in his jeans on the floor.
She barely had time to miss his heat before he was back, fully sheathed, crowding her against the tile, the water now beating against his back.
“Now,” he murmured, his voice thick, “where were we?”
Then he kissed her thoroughly and without restraint. His tongue slid against hers in slow, sensuous strokes that made her knees threaten to give out all over again. He gripped her hips, lifting her effortlessly, and when she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he pressed her back against the tile, fire flared everywhere they touched.
Bennett broke the kiss to press his forehead to hers, before he sank into her in one long, claiming thrust.
Laurel cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved, slow at first, like he was trying to memorize the moment.
“Look at me,” he whispered, voice gravel rough.
She did, and everything shifted. Breath tangled, gazes locked, and it became more than just heat. More than just lust. This was everything that had been simmering between them for days finally spilling over.
Their pace quickened, driven by need and something much more tender. His mouth found hers again, hungry and possessive, and she gave herself over to it completely.
Pressure built again, winding tight and deep, until it snapped.
She shattered around him, a raw cry muffled against his mouth as he followed with a guttural sound, both spiraling into the heat they’d been holding back for far too long.
It took several glorious, mind-numbing moments before the world righted, and their breathing slowed.
Bennett leaned back just enough to look into her eyes. “Told you there’d be more,” he murmured, brushing a soaked strand of hair from her cheek.
Laurel smiled, breathless. “But you didn’t mention how goodmorewould feel.”
***
The smell of pizza mingled with lingering traces of shampoo and steam in the air, the apartment’s soft lighting casting a warm glow over the open space. Laurel sat cross-legged on the couch, an oversized T-shirt hanging loose off her shoulder, her hair still damp from the shower. She was barefoot, wearing a pair of fringed shorts, and beautiful in a way that made Bennett’s chest feel too tight.
He handed her a plate with two slices and settled beside her with his own, one arm draped over the back of the couch, not quite touching her, but close enough to feel her presence.
“I’m just saying,” she said, between bites, “if there’s ever an apocalypse, I fully intend to barter with books. Paperbacks are portable, versatile, and far more entertaining than gold.”
Bennett chuckled, grabbing a slice from his plate. “So, you’re telling me your survival plan is novels and sarcasm?”
“Obviously.” She gave him a pointed look. “Have you read half those survival guides? They don’t say anything about mental health. I’m just doing my part to keep spirits up.”
“Of course,” he said dryly. “Providing emotional support via paperbacks and fictional men named Heathcliff.”
She laughed, full and unguarded, and it hit him in the ribs like a soft punch. That sound. That ease. He’d been in war zones with less tension than what used to live in her shoulders.
