Page 56 of Roughing It

“You…” he presses.

I close my eyes. “This is what I pictured—what I wanted. For my weekend fling,” I clarify so he doesn’t panic about me getting ideas about the things we can’t have.

“Roughing it in the woods,” he says, but there’s a tightness in his tone now, and I know I’ve hurt him.

“Meeting one of the most amazing men ever,” I correct. “I’m not the kind of woman who needs or wants to be swept off her feet by a whirlwind romance. I don’t ever expect to meet a man who would pack up his life and move across the country to be with me. And that’s okay. This,” I say and squeeze his fingers, “is enough.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes away from the table and uses his grip on my hand to draw me to my feet. “There’s dessert,” he says as he yanks me closer, my body immediately pressing against his, “but I’m not really that hungry.”

As he cups my cheeks, I turn my head up to face him, rising onto my toes so our lips are just a few inches apart. “Think René will mind?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, then nuzzles our noses together. “But I’m finding it incredibly difficult to care.”

* * *

As hard as it is, we make it back to the room with all of our clothes on, though Maddox has managed to pull my collar aside during a mid-hallway make-out session so he could leave a mark on the top of my shoulder.

I can feel the gentle throb of the bruise there, and I want to press my fingers to it. I know the moment it fades, it’ll be far more painful than when he gave it to me, and I try not to think about it now as he closes the door to the suite.

I immediately glance around for Nudge because I don’t want to traumatize the poor thing, but she’s nestled in a pile of our discarded clothes from earlier, and she doesn’t move when we walk through the room.

I start heading for the bed when Maddox’s strong hands curl around my hips, and I half expect to be spun around and backed up against the wall so he can kiss me within an inch of my life—because that’s been kind of his thing the past twenty-four hours. Only, he doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts his hands, gently brushing hair back away from my face before cupping it gently. His eyes are locked on mine, and I start to feel panic rise because he must be able to see how I feel.

He leans in and takes my mouth in the most painfully tender kiss. It’s a kiss I didn’t know existed outside of novels. It’s a kiss that makes my toes curl and my heart pound and the world spin. It’s a kiss that makes me feel like I’m floating.

I’m not consciously aware of wrapping my arms around his neck, but suddenly, he’s lifting me up with his powerful arms and walking me toward the bed. This is nothing like before—nothing like the first intense fucking or the possessive desperation of earlier.

He’s pressing me to the sheets, covering his body with mine like he wants to shield me from the rest of the world. I swallow past a lump in my throat, and I want to speak, but I can’t seem to make a sound beyond a quiet moan when I feel his hardness pressing against my core.

I spread my legs wider and thrust against him because I need to feel something—anything that will distract me from the rising feelings that started low in my gut and are now burning in my chest. I’m at risk of totally falling apart, and I can’t afford to tumble off the edge of that cliff.

Not when everything’s about to change.

Not when I’m about to walk away.

Maddox doesn’t let me sink too far into my head. He holds me by the chin and deepens the kiss as his free hand roams downward. He pushes my shirt up before going right for the button on my jeans, and it’s not long before he has the zipper down and his fingers pushing through my curls.

I groan hotly into his mouth as he strokes between my folds, but before I can tumble into a quick and easy first orgasm, he’s pulling away. His eyes never leave mine as he strips off his shirt and pants. His mouth stays slightly curled up at the edges as he gently strips me bare, pausing every so often to lay soft, careful lips to my most tender spots.

He kisses over my hip, my belly, between my breasts. He drags teeth over my collarbone, nips at my earlobe, then ends at my mouth again, drinking in my soft cry as his cock presses against my panties, right over my entrance.

“Please,” I try to say, but it comes out a rough whisper.

He grunts low from his chest as he thrusts hard, and then he reaches between us. It only takes a second for him to finish undressing the both of us—and there’s something oddly erotic about the way he pins my wrists to the bed with a strong hand when I try to help.

He still hasn’t said a word, but in that moment, I don’t need him to. Everything he’s thinking—everything he’s feeling—it’s open on his face. He wants this. He wants me. He wants to hold on and stop the morning from coming.

Just like I do.

My eyes are hot and a little wet by the time he has a condom on, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he nudges inside of me. Instead of fucking me into the mattress though, he slides his hands under my back and lifts until I’m straddling him. He’s on his knees, holding me up with his impossibly strong grip, and once again, our gazes lock.

“Eden,” he rumbles.

I swallow thickly and roll my hips. There’s not a lot of space for me to move up and down, but the way he’s giving slow, shallow thrusts sets something alight at my core. My pussy’s dripping wet and trembling, and every time I squeeze around him, he grunts and holds me tighter.

“Maddox,” I moan.

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