“This okay?” Voice rough, he had glassy eyes and unsteady hands on my face as he brushed my hair off my forehead. I basked in the effect I had on him.
“Yeah. But I think this is the part where you navigate.”
“Maybe we both can. Go where it feels good.” He kissed me again, sweet and slow, and it was impossible not to follow him. Go where it feels good. That was silly because it all felt amazing. His lips on my mine, warm and urgent. His hand tangled in my hair, other hand on my side, pulling me even closer. His body against mine, strong and insistent. And maybe my brain still didn’t know the protocol, didn’t know what to do, but my body did, moving with his. On their own, my legs shifted, bringing him more fully against me, thighs seemingly made to cradle him like this.
We kept kissing as our bodies set a slow, hypnotic rhythm, lips like magnets that would stray to cheeks and ears and necks only to return to each other, hungrier than ever. I’d always thought of this as a path, a clear destination, definite mile markers along the way, but in actuality, it was more of an ocean of sensation, all directions equally pleasurable, no map required. It was a journey for sure, but not a progression as much as a ride, floating along on good feelings until I almost couldn’t stand it anymore.
When he broke the kiss to suck in a breath, a pained moan escaped my throat, as much a demand as protest. “More. Need…”
“I know. Me too.” He paused to breathe deeply, and I could feel his heart hammering against my own. “But if I go faster, this will all be over, and I don’t want this to end. Want to kiss you forever. Want this to go on and on.”
“It can.” And he might be the one with more experience, but I still had one thing in my favor—logic. “It doesn’t have to end. We can just do it again.”
“Are we sure you’re not a genius?” He laughed, but I captured his mouth in another kiss before he could finish. Something seemed to snap in him, some last piece of control, and I reveled in the new intensity of his kiss, of the way his body moved more intently against mine. More. I wanted more. And my body was already one step ahead, a familiar build in the most unfamiliar of circumstances.
“I’m—”
“Me too. Me too.” His breath was harsh in my ear, hands urgent on my hips, pressure so achingly perfect that I too wanted this to last forever. I cursed the layers of fabric between us, but no way could I slow down enough to deal with something mundane as undressing. No, I needed—
“Alden.”
That. Right there. His voice breaking, my name on his lips. The trapped-in-a-particle-accelerator feeling intensified until I was exploding, a billion pieces of light and energy, no holding back, hurdling forward right along with him until our moans mingled as our bodies shook.
Slowly, I came back to myself, aware first of my breathing, as uneven as my heart rate. Then my limbs, heavy and sated. My throat, scratchy and raw. I knew a flash of gratitude for the relative privacy of the little cabin, hoping the logs were as soundproof as they looked. With that gratitude came a healthy dose of embarrassment—I’d been loud. And sort of out of control.
But then, so had he, and from the dopey grin he offered me, he was neither horrified nor embarrassed himself. “Doing okay?”
I had to consider the question, and as I did, his eyes shifted from laughing to something more tender and concerned. It was that hint of vulnerability, something I almost never saw from him, that had me nodding. “More than.”
“Good. We…uh…need to clean up.”
“Yeah.” I hadn’t really ever considered that part of this enterprise, the awkward and sticky part. I studied the curtains. “You can have the first shower.”
“We’ll share.” Not giving me much chance to object, he tugged me toward the bathroom. “I got you messy. Now I get to clean you up.”
For all we’d just shared, this was weird—undressing with someone else, trying not to stare, even though he was too gorgeous to ignore. His body was tall and lean, with ropy muscles and freckles in unexpected places, hair hopelessly rumpled from us rolling around, and kiss-swollen lips that made my blood hum and made me want to kiss him anew. Maybe I’d wait until we were clothed though. I felt supremely naked, on multiple levels, negotiating the small space and even smaller tub. And I wasn’t sure there was anything romantic about trying to make sure neither of us ended up cold and wet. Letting him have more of the hot water seemed only polite, but shivering was hardly sexy either.