Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Edie kissed him. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. She grabbed Tarmek's face with both hands and pulled him down to her with every ounce of desperation she'd been fighting the entire week.He tasted like snow and coffee and home. The word should have terrified her. Instead, it made her kiss him harder.
His hands were everywhere—sliding under her flannel shirt, gripping her hips, tangling in her hair. He groaned against her mouth, a low rumbling sound that vibrated through her chest and settled somewhere south of her navel.
"Edie—"
"Don't talk." She yanked at his thermal shirt. "Don't think. Just—please—"
He understood.
Of course he understood. Tarmek had been paying attention to her body for weeks, cataloging every sigh and shiver with that obsessive precision that drove her absolutely wild. He knew what she needed before she could find the words to ask.
His hands found the zipper of her dress—the same dress she'd worn last night, now wrinkled beyond repair—and tugged it down with a growl of satisfaction. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a flannel shirt and thick socks.
"Beautiful," he murmured.
"It's freezing."
"I'll warm you up."
He did.
God, he did.
His hands mapped her curves like he was memorizing terrain, thumbs tracing the dip of her waist, palms spreading across her ribs.
He lifted her effortlessly and set her on the tiny counter that served as both kitchen workspace and eating area.
The edge dug into her thighs. The cabinet handle pressed against her shoulder blade. She didn't care.
"Too cramped," he muttered against her neck. "This camper is—"
"Perfect." She wrapped her legs around his waist. "Stop complaining."
"I'm not—" She bit down on the junction of his shoulder and neck, and whatever objection he'd been forming dissolved into a groan. "Edie."
"Bed. Now."
The bed in question was approximately six feet long and barely wide enough for one person, let alone an orc who had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. But Tarmek managed. He always managed.
He carried her the single step to the bed and lowered her onto the thin mattress, then stood there for a moment looking at her. His head brushed the roof and his shoulders practically spanned the entire width of the camper but he didn’t seem to notice, all of his attention on her.
"Come here," she whispered.
He did.
The bed creaked ominously as he climbed on top of her.
His elbow hit the wall. His knee knocked against the storage cabinet at the foot of the mattress.
When he tried to brace himself, his head connected with the overhead shelf, sending a cascade of paperback romance novels tumbling onto the pillow.
"Ow."
She started laughing. She couldn't help it. The most feared enforcer in the league, capable of leveling opponents with a single hit, was being defeated by her tiny camper.
"It's not funny," he grumbled, rubbing his head.
"It's hilarious."
"You're laughing at me."
"I'm laughing at the situation." She pulled him down for another kiss, still giggling against his lips. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm ridiculous? Your bed is the size of a postage stamp."
"It's cozy."
"It's a hazard."
But he was smiling now too, that rare genuine smile that transformed his entire face. The one she'd fallen in love with before she even realized it was happening.
Love.
The word didn't scare her anymore.
"We could move to the condo," he offered. "With a proper bed, and no concussion risk."
She shook her head. "No. Here. I want it to be here."
"Why?"
Because this is where I've been hiding. This is my safe place, my escape route, my proof that I can survive without anyone else. And I want to let you in.
She couldn't say all that. Not yet. So she kissed him instead, and the laughter faded into something deeper.
He grabbed the hem of her flannel shirt, one she'd stolen from him weeks ago, and tugged it over her head. His eyes went dark as they roamed her body, and she shivered under the intensity of his gaze.
"Still cold?"
"No."
"Liar." He lowered his head to her breast, tongue tracing a slow circle that made her arch off the mattress. "Let me warm you up."
He was thorough. Methodical. Infuriatingly patient.
By the time he'd worked his way down her stomach—kissing, licking, biting in that precise way she loved—she was practically vibrating with need. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her hips lifted towards him.
"Tarmek."
"Hmm?"
"Stop teasing."
"I'm not teasing." He pressed a kiss to her hip bone. "I'm savoring."
"Savor faster."
His laugh was a warm gust of air against her skin. But he took pity on her, finally, his mouth finding the place where she needed him most.
Edie's back arched. Her head hit the wall.
"Ow—"
"This bed is a health violation."
"Don't stop."
He didn't.
She came apart with his name on her lips and her fingers tangled in his hair, pleasure crashing through her in waves. Before she'd even finished riding it out, he was crawling back up her body, positioning himself between her thighs.
"Okay?"
The fact that he always asked—even now, even when she was clearly desperate and willing and wrapping her legs around him—made her heart clench.
"More than okay." She pulled him closer. "Now. Please."
When he finally pushed inside her, the bed frame groaned in protest. Something in the wall rattled. She was pretty sure she heard a screw pop loose somewhere. She didn't care.
Nothing mattered except the weight of him above her, the stretch and fullness of him inside her, the way his eyes locked onto hers like she was the only thing in the universe worth seeing.
"Edie." Her name came out strangled. "I need to move."
"Then move."
He did.
The rhythm they found wasn’t perfect. It was too cramped for his preferred angles, and too restricted for her usual range of motion.
His shoulder hit the ceiling. Her elbow connected with the storage compartment.
At one point, the entire camper rocked so violently she was convinced it might tip over.
It was awkward and uncomfortable and absolutely wonderful.
Because this wasn't about technique or performance or any of the things she'd used to keep people at arm's length. This was raw and real and honest. Two people choosing each other despite the obstacles. Fitting together even when the space tried to keep them apart.
Just like us, she thought hazily. Making it work against all odds.
"I love you," Tarmek breathed against her neck. "I love you, I love you, I—"
"I love you too."
The words came out easier than she'd expected. Natural, like they'd been waiting just beneath the surface. He froze, then pulled back to stare at her.
"Say it again."
"I love you." She cupped his face. "I love you, Tarmek. I'm terrified and overwhelmed and completely sure I'm going to mess this up somehow, but I love you."
His entire expression transformed. Joy and disbelief and something that looked like hope—like he'd been afraid to believe this moment would ever come.
Then he kissed her senseless and started moving again, harder now, deeper, like he was trying to imprint himself on her soul. When they finally climaxed—together, this time, her nails digging into his shoulders as she shattered—the bed let out an alarming crack.
They both froze.
"Please tell me that wasn't something structural," he said.
She looked at the bedframe, then at the impressive orc currently crushing her into the mattress, then back at the bedframe.
"I think you killed my bed."
"Your bed tried to kill me first."
She burst out laughing, and after a moment, he joined her—that low rumbling chuckle she loved so much.
They lay tangled together in the wreckage, snow drifting past the windows, the broken heater forgotten, her body warm and satisfied and utterly content.
This is what I've been running from, she thought. Not the pain but the terrifying possibility that someone might actually ask me to stay.