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Vivian Wood

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He kissed me like he meant it.

“You’re not leaving tomorrow, are you?” she asked, voice hushed.

Henry didn’t answer; he didn’t have to. He crossed the distance between them and slid a hand along her cheek. The question hung there, loaded with everything they’d avoided saying for days.

“Ellie,” he said, low and careful, “I don’t want to hurt you. But every time I’m near you, all I can think about is taking you like this—”

He cupped the back of her neck, and in one fluid motion, claimed her mouth with his. She whimpered, parting her lips, and the taste of her was better than any memory. ​

When her arms slid up around his shoulders, he coaxed her deeper into the kiss. The bed creaked behind them, beckoning. Ellie tugged at his shirt until he raised his arms and let her peel it off.

“I’ve wanted this,” she whispered, eyes roaming the expanse of his bare chest. She ran her palms over the ridges of muscle. “Always.”

“Show me,” he said. The raw need in his voice made her shiver. ​

She popped the button of her shorts, letting them slip to the floor. The thin scrap of her underwear soon followed. Henry’s gaze darkened, a low groan rumbling out as his hand splayed across her hips, guiding her back until she hit the mattress.

“You’re so beautiful,” he rasped, kneeling to plant kisses along her thighs. She arched her back, the breath leaving her lungs in shallow bursts.

Ellie dragged her fingers through his hair, her soft moan a wordless plea as he pressed his mouth where she ached most. A tremor rolled through her, every nerve ending on alert. ​

She could barely form a thought as his tongue teased her, sending jolts of pleasure pulsing through her veins. “Henry,” she gasped, “don’t stop.”

He had no intention of stopping. Her legs quivered, and he slipped an arm beneath her to hold her steady. Every swirl and flick pushed her closer to the edge until her cry broke in the hush of the cabin.

When Ellie’s breathing calmed, Henry stood, chest heaving. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching him fumble for the foil packet in his wallet. ​

“Hurry,” she urged, cheeks still flushed.

Henry did exactly that. In the next breath, he joined her on the bed, bracing his forearms on either side of her. She pulled him down, and their mouths collided again. His body pressed against hers, every inch of them aligned.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured, poised at her entrance.

“I do,” she managed, eyes fluttering shut. “I want you, Henry. Now.”

And that was all he needed. He pushed into her, the heat and pressure stealing her breath. Ellie’s nails bit lightly into his shoulders. For a moment, neither of them moved, overwhelmed by the sharp bliss of finally crossing a line they both knew they couldn’t uncross. Then he began a slow, deliberate rhythm, one that spoke of hunger and restraint unraveling at the seams.

Vivian Wood

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