“As far as we know,” she said, squeezing my hand.
“They’re not. Not this week,” I said, but it sounded thin even to me. “You want Toronto, we do Toronto. I’ll get us set up.”
She let me hold the silence, then rubbed her forehead, shivering. “I just… I can’t wait for the next disaster. It makes me insane, Dante. I feel like the whole world is a trap and I can’t even see the edges.” Her voice was so thin it barely held together. “I need to do something, or I’ll just… stop being me.”
I nodded. It was a truth so raw it had gotten into our bones weeks ago, but saying it out loud made it easier to hold. I pulled her in, cold and all, and felt her shiver shift from the cold to relief.
“We can’t go back until it’s done, can we?” she asked. She wasn’t talking about the plan. She was talking about the shadow life we’d built—the waiting, the compromise, the way survival was the only thing left that mattered.
“Until what’s done, love?”
“This,” she said. “Any of this.”
I didn’t need her to spell it out. I kissed her, slow, pressing every ounce of resolve I had left into the shape of her lips, the chill of her skin, the way her body folded into mine. When she let go, she slumped against my chest, every muscle unwinding at once.
I wanted to believe I could brute-force us through the next checkpoint, and the next, all the way back to something like a life. But if I was honest, all I had was a stolen car and a handful of hours before the world recalibrated and came for us again.
“I need you,” I said, kissing down her jaw, to the hollow of her throat. “You keep me sane.” Her heart was pounding. I knew how hard she’d been trying not to break, how close to the edge she was. Every second she was near me, I felt the risk—every second she could vanish, or worse, get caught in the crossfire meant for me.
Jade’s arms locked around me, not for warmth but for leverage, and the look she gave me could have melted a glacier. I knew what she wanted. I knew her like I’d been waiting my whole life for her hunger, her hands, the way she cut through my bullshit and left me spinning.
The cold didn’t matter. The garage didn’t matter. I pressed her to the unfinished wall, insulation crumbling down onto her hair like confetti. She grabbed my jaw and kissed me hard, bruising. She didn’t want gentle—not now. She wanted to feel it, the risk, the proof we were alive.
I lifted her, wrapped her legs around me, felt the heat of her through denim and flannel. She’d gotten heavier, more solid, more real. I yanked her pants down, let them fall to the concrete. Her gasp hit me like a live wire, sharp and electric, shorting out every nerve I’d ever learned to control.
"Don’t fuck me on the cold," she hissed, nails biting my neck. "I don’t want kiddo conceived in a garage."
"Our son’s already conceived," I growled, pinning her to the wall. "And I doubt he’s keeping a tally."
I wanted her to feel it. I slid my hand into her panties, found her hot and slick and ready. I wanted to savor it, but the need was boiling over—months of hiding, holding back, pretendingwe could be careful when all I wanted was to break her open and let the world in.
She tried to bite my shoulder but got only my jacket, so she yanked my hair instead, dragging my mouth to hers. I tasted coffee, cold, the metallic tang of fear and something sweet. I rubbed her slow, not to tease but to remind her I remembered everything—how she liked it, how to build it, how she’d try to stifle a moan and then let go when it crested. My fingers slicked against her clit and her leg shivered. Her lips at my ear: “Shouldn’t we go inside?”
“No,” I said. “I get to have you whenever I want. I want you now.”
She laughed, ragged and raw, the sound she only made when she was too far gone to care. I pressed her harder to the insulation, palm flat on her face, thumb on her jaw. Then I sunk two fingers deep and she jerked, breathless, eyes rolling back before she grabbed my belt for balance.
“You got three minutes before I—” she started, but lost the sentence when I curled my knuckle just right.
I let her have her voice, her fight, loving how she never broke unless I earned it. I kissed her hard, tongue bruising hers, let her push back until her knees started to give. She came fast, hips shuddering so hard I had to keep her upright. She clung to my neck, riding it out, then slumped, limp.
“That’s one,” she gasped, and I bit her throat, grinning.
“I’m going to make you come on my cock this time.” I freed myself, spun her, pressed her face to the splintered wood, her back arched. I waited until she looked at me, eyes black withwant. She didn’t need lube, didn’t want gentle. She wanted the world simple and sharp and just us.
I pushed inside, slow, letting her stretch to it, my hand flat on her lower back. She was so fucking tight it made my vision go white. I held her there, pinning her, letting her body remember what it was like to be mine—no rules, no schedule, just need.
She growled, actually growled, and pushed back. I met her thrust for thrust, the slap of skin and denim and the pulse of what we made together. She grabbed the stud for leverage, nails digging in.
“You’re not going to make me come like this,” she spat, defiant.
“I will make you come whenever I want, actually,” I said. “And like this seems very, very good.”
I grinned, pulled her off the wall, turned her, lifted her so her legs wrapped around me again, her ass cold and tight in my grip. I locked eyes and drove in, hard and deep, watched her face go from daring to stunned. I would have killed for that look.
I would kill for that look.
She found my mouth, bit my lip until I tasted blood, then arched, moaned, wild-eyed and almost furious with how good it felt. “Fucking—oh—shit,” she got out, and then her body betrayed her, clenching, soaking my cock, her face a war zone between shame and bliss.
