Chapter 9: Upstairs

Rafe came around the counter in two steps.

He didn't say anything.

He picked me up by the backs of my thighs and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

He carried me up the narrow stairs with my mouth against his.

The upstairs room smelled of cedar and lake.

He kicked the door shut and put me down on the edge of the bed, and for a moment he only looked at me.

"Six years," he said.

"Don't talk," I said. "Not yet."

I pulled his shirt over his head and threw it somewhere.

He was broader than he'd been at twenty-nine, from five years of hauling crab pots.

A long white scar ran down his ribs, and I didn't know it.

I put my mouth on it.

He swore under his breath and shoved his hands into my hair.

"Jo."

"Say it again."

"Jo," he said, lower.

He peeled my sweater off and then my bra, and his hands came up under my breasts and lifted them.

His thumbs dragged over my nipples, and I arched into him.

"You're shaking," I said.

"So are you."

"I know."

He bent and took one nipple into his mouth.

He sucked hard, then flicked it with his tongue, and I made a sound that filled the little room.

My hands went to his belt.

He let me unbuckle it, and I shoved his jeans down and wrapped my hand around his cock.

It was hard and hot and heavy, and it jumped when I stroked it.

He groaned into my collarbone.

"Fuck, Jo, I can't take that for long."

"Then don't."

He laid me back on the bed and pulled my jeans and underwear off in one long drag.

He knelt between my knees and looked at me, bare and open under the lamp.

"You're soaked," he said.

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