Page 32 of Surrender
Her fingers tangled in his hair as he dragged her closer, his body pressing hard against hers. Her skirt rode up in his hands, pushed aside with rough urgency, and she gasped as his palm slid between her thighs.
“Keefe—” she breathed, part warning, part plea.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, low and ragged.
And he did. She melted beneath his touch, her head falling back against the wall as he found her, teased her, stroked her, until she was trembling. He swallowed every sound she made, kissed her deeper as she shattered in his arms.
When it was over, he didn’t move—just rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathless. Her hand pressed to his chest, feeling the wild rhythm of his heart beneath her palm.
Whatever had started between them—it was no longer a spark.
It was a blaze.
“Come home with me.”
Still breathless, she nodded.
“I’ll drive.”
They barely made it through Keefe’s front door before their mouths collided again—hot, breathless, unrelenting.
She dropped her bag with a thud as he backed her against the wall, his hands tangled in her hair, hers tugging at the hem of his shirt. She laughed softly, breath catching as he swept her up, her legs wrapping around his waist like they’d done this a hundred times.
Like her body already knew him.
“I should slow down,” he murmured against her neck, voice rough with need. “I told myself I would.”
But her scent and the way she clung to him tore that resolve apart.
“I don’t want slow,” she whispered, brushing her lips to his.
That was it. The last thread snapped.
He kissed her—deep, reckless. Their rhythm fell apart, all hands and mouths and need. Frantic. Messy. And underneath it all, something more. Something impossible.
Something like knowing someone you had just met.
He carried her to the bedroom, trying to stay in control, but it was already gone. She clung to him, her breath ragged, her hands in his hair.
Their eyes locked—hers wide, open; his full of something quieter. Reverent. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. She leaned into it like she had been waiting all her life for that single touch.
His heart pounded in his chest as he kissed her again—slower this time, memorizing her mouth, the feel and shape of her.
His hands slid beneath lace and fabric. She arched into him, gasping when his mouth closed around her nipple, drawing a moan so deep it vibrated through them both. She was fire and surrender beneath him.
When his fingers slipped inside her, she broke apart—crying out his name like a prayer.
He couldn’t wait. Wouldn’t.
Hovering over her, chest heaving, he brushed her hair back with reverent fingers. She reached for him.
“Please,” she said, voice raw. “Don’t stop now.”
He entered her in one slow, aching thrust. They both gasped—at the shock, at how right it felt, how deep it went. Instantly, they were no longer two people anymore.
They were one rhythm. One storm.
He stilled, forehead pressed to hers.
