She tugged his sweater upward, and he dragged his mouth from hers long enough to yank it over his head along with the shirt he was wearing underneath. Beyond the windows, snow fell through inky darkness, but neither of them noticed. Her eyes were fixed on sculpted muscle and tempting male flesh.

She stripped off her clothes, too, fumbling in her haste, hungry for him. He helped her, his fingers tangling with hers, each movement punctuated with kisses because neither of them could bear to stop. Who would want to stop something that felt so good? Through the low hum of her own need she heard his voice telling her how much he wanted her, how she was sexy, how she was the most exciting woman he’d ever known. And then finally, somehow, she was down to her underwear, and he swept her up and carried her to the bedroom as if she weighed nothing.

“Now.” She tugged him down with her onto the bed. “Right now.”

“Wait.” His voice was hoarse. “Just...wait. We should slow down.”

She felt something close to desperation. She didn’t want to slow down. She didn’t want to think.

“Why? You don’t want to do this?”

“I want to do this.” His breathing was unsteady. “I’m having a problem sleeping with someone who is upset.”

“I’ve had one glass of wine. My decision-making is unimpaired. I was the one who dragged you here. If you need any more evidence of consent—”

“It’s not about consent.” He stroked her hair away from her face, his fingers gentle. His eyes darkened. “I’ve seen you like this before. If you want to talk, I’m ready to listen.”

“I don’t want to talk. I want to have sex.” She ran her hands over his back, feeling the play of muscle under her fingers.

He hesitated and then lowered his mouth to hers. “Fine, but if you change your mind—”

“I won’t change my mind. And if you could hurry up—”

“It’s called foreplay. I’m trying to take it slowly.” He pressed kisses to her jaw, her neck, her throat. “You’re not making it easy.”

“The last five years have been foreplay. And I don’t want you to take it slowly.”

This was what she wanted. This was the only type of intimacy she didn’t mess up.

Blindly, she reached for him, pushed thought aside and let herself feel. She felt the knowing brush of his fingers against her inner thigh. The scrape of stubble against soft skin. The skilled flick of his tongue. And she knew she hadn’t imagined the way it had felt five years before. He knew how to build the pleasure, and he did so until she was desperate and writhing with sensation, until all she could think about was him, until the only words she was capable of uttering was a string of unintelligible pleas. Now, now. Please. There was a brief pause, and then he shifted her under him in a smooth movement, and she felt him against her, hard and heavy. She arched and brought them together, her legs locked around him as her body matched the demands of his. He cupped her head in his hand, turned her face so that she was looking at him. He paid attention to every shift of her body, every sound she made, and with each movement the connection between them deepened. She stared into his eyes as they moved together, and she was shaken by the force of her feelings and the raw intimacy of what they were sharing. Excitement raced through her, driving her higher and higher until finally she tipped over the edge. She felt an uncontrollable surge of emotion. It flooded through her, overwhelmed her, and her cry of pleasure turned into a sob. And then another sob. She felt Zac roll onto his side and gather her close.