Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he notched at her entrance. He felt so good. Thick and blunt and all she could think about was that heat and hardness inside her.

Grady inside her.

Not about tomorrow or about their pretense or her parents or Christmas. There was nothing but Grady.

And he didn’t pause, didn’t slow down, didn’t stop kissing her to take a breath, he just entered her in one stroke, sliding in high and hard, tearing a gasp from Suzanne’s throat and a groan from his, his mouth breaking away as he buried his face in her neck, pressing his lips to just below her ear.

He didn’t move for long moments, and neither did Suzanne. They just lay still, breathing heavy in the aftermath of that first thrust. It was better than anything she’d ever imagined—and she’d imagined this far more than was good for her. Fireworks popped behind her closed eyes as she reveled in the weight and the heat and the hardness of him on top.

If this was how good he was at entry, Suzanne was going to be a dead woman when it came to actual thrusting.

He moved then, levering up on one arm as he withdrew and looming up over her as he thrust again. Suzanne gasped, twining her legs around his waist to take him deeper, and he kissed her, cutting off her gasp as he nudged higher, thrusting his tongue in time with the piston of his hips, turning her gasps to moans and then whimpers.

He fucked her hard. The tension in his muscles ratcheted tight, his back a taut, tight bow, a fine tremor fibrillating through his frame as he hunched into every thrust. It was almost like he was punishing her, or punishing himself anyway. Like he was trying to exorcise her from his head if not his life. Suzanne knew exactly how he felt—she didn’t want to want him, either—but if this kind of pleasure was punishment, she’d take it any day.

This frenzy was exactly what Suzanne craved, and she met his every thrust, feeling it ripple over her skin and rattle through her bones and streak straight to her clitoris as her heart galloped inside her chest. And whether it was from Grady’s barely contained arousal or the way his grinding provided such a direct stimulus to just the right place, Suzanne knew she was close to climax.

She cried out at the first deep pull spreading through her pelvis. “Josh,” she whimpered, her lungs on fire as they desperately grabbed for air.

“Fuck,” he muttered, panting hard as he rose up on his forearms, the tendons in his neck like ropes. He stared down at her with a mix of lust and helplessness more potent than his bourbon.