He entered me, forceful and deep, with no buildup or teasing. He was just as hard and long as I remembered, just as wonderful. Steadying his hands on my hips, he thrust roughly into me, desperately trying to sate the need I’d seen in him earlier, the need I shared. I cried out each time he shoved into me, knowing I should be quiet in case someone else had come back to the store. But I couldn’t be. I was too caught up in the out-of-control passion of this moment, in the sinuous, primal lust that had consumed us both. And underscoring all of it was the realization that it was Seth. Seth, Seth, Seth . . . whom I loved more than anyone else. You are the world.

He moved his hands up from my hips to cup my breasts, forcing me to readjust my position. All the time, he never broke his rhythm, staying fast and urgent. His fingers pinched my nipples hard, and I cried out louder. I think that turned him on even more, spurring him to thrust harder into me. Hoping to excite him further, I completely gave myself over and let go of any restraint with my voice. The louder I moaned, the more his body pounded into mine. It was all I could do to keep myself from getting pressed against the wall, and as I moaned over and over, it had nothing to do with arousing him and everything to do with the ecstatic and exquisite force of what we were doing.

And when I finally came, the heat between my thighs building to an unbearable high, it was his name I screamed. A surge of new wetness came with my orgasm, and then I heard him groan and give a thrust so hard that it did shove me against the wall. His hands still clenched my breasts, his nails digging into my tender flesh, as he shuddered and took his release. He came for a long time, his low cry slowly fading.

When he pulled out, the loss of him in my body made me feel incomplete. Nonetheless, I straightened up and leaned against the wall, gasping to catch my breath. My voice was hoarse.

“Jesus,” I said. “That was bad.”

Seth looked startled—and then hurt. “Bad?”

“No, not performance bad—more like dirty, wicked bad. The kind of stuff that gets an R rating.”

“What, we can’t do that?” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, nuzzling my neck.

“Well, yeah . . . er, well, damn it. We’re not supposed to be. Not at all. It’s just that last time, it was like . . . I don’t know. It was making love. This time it was . . .”

“Fucking?” he supplied.

“Oh God,” I groaned. “Seth Mortensen just said ‘fucking’ out loud. The end times are near.”

He laughed and placed tiny kisses over my cheek. “I’m not some innocent. You should know that from my books.”