She kissed Morgan fiercely. Morgan matched her in intensity and lifted her, growling as she backed Emilia into the kitchen wall. She kept her legs wrapped tightly around Morgan’s waist. The solid wood of the wall provided leverage for her hips, and she pressed into Morgan as Morgan broke the kiss to bite the place where her neck met her shoulder. Love and lust blurred. She needed her. Needed her with a ferocity that filled her with a heady, feral joy. She wanted to break herself against this woman. She’d been broken so many times already this year, never by choice, but in Morgan’s arms she knew she could come undone without losing herself.

“The couch,” she said as best she could with her breath ratcheting into new gears. It would take too long to get upstairs, and upstairs—she shut the thought down. She would not think about her father’s room. Morgan’s hips surged with hers, and she let the thought and its suppression go.

“Please,” she begged Morgan. “I need you.”

Morgan’s hands tightened on her waist and Emilia felt the certainty of her heart beating against her palms. She felt, too, the effect her words had on Morgan, and slid to the ground so she could tug Morgan into the living room. Then she pulled her down on top of her on the couch. Her legs rewrapped themselves around Morgan’s waist, and she dug her nails into the hard muscles of Morgan’s back. Morgan whimpered, half with pain, half with desire, and when Emilia paused for fear of hurting her Morgan said, “Don’t you dare stop.”

She ripped Morgan’s shirt over her head and fumbled with her bra until it gave. Her nails marked Morgan’s back, and while a distant part of her wondered at this new intensity, she was too lost in it to care.

Her own shirt went next, though she complicated this by refusing to relinquish her grip on Morgan.

“Girl,” Morgan said, and for the first time since they’d started sleeping together, she used her superior strength to take control without Emilia’s permission. Pinning her with one arm, she eased Emilia’s shirt over her head while her chest heaved with a new thrill of longing. She was dimly aware that she had never been this turned on in her life.

“Every time,” Morgan said as she touched the curve of Emilia’s breasts. “I forget how fucking perfect you are.”