Page 113 of Final Drive

She grabs my face and kisses me, and somewhere between laughing at her and getting her back down onto my jacket, the last of the tightness in my chest disappears.

I put my mouth on her and take my time.

Reese does not.

She tries to rush me almost immediately, one hand in my hair, the other braced against the sand, and I have to catch her hips when she starts trying to set the pace herself.

“Stop coxing me.”

Her head comes up. “Did you seriously⁠—”

I don’t let her finish.

She drops back onto the jacket with a curse and her fingers tighten hard enough in my hair that it hurts. I don’t mind. Nobody is coming down this road. Nobody is waiting outside a door. Nobody is going to knock or call her name from another room.

For once, she doesn’t have to be quiet.

She isn’t.

I’ve heard it exactly once before, up at the overlook with nothing but valley lights underneath us, and I’ve thought about it more than I’d tell anybody.

By the time she drags me back up by the hair, she’s flushed and impatient and glaring at me like I’ve personally offended her.

“Now, Blake.”

I stop.

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t.”

“Cameron.”

“Oh my God.”

“Say it.”

She grabs my jaw. “Now, Cameron.”

“Better.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah.”

I kiss her and push into her.

We both go still.

Not because anything is wrong. Because nothing is.

That’s what catches me.

The last time I was inside her I had her bent over the tank of that bike with my teeth on her shoulder, forcing the knot back down with everything I had. I know what she feels like. I’ve known since that night. What I’ve never had is this part, where there’s nothing running in the back of my head telling me how far I’m allowed to go.

There’s nothing running at all.

Just Reese underneath me, her arms around my shoulders and her legs locked around my hips, looking straight at me.

And I don’t want anything from her that she isn’t already giving me.