Then, without warning, he thrust into her in one swift, claiming motion. Lucy cried out a sound of startled pleasure, of surrender.
He moved fast, hard, with the kind of urgency that came from something deeper than lust—like he was trying to silence all the chaos in both their lives, even for a moment. The couch creaked beneath them, and the storm outside raged louder, but inside, there was only the sound of their bodies colliding, their breath, their shared heat.
It wasn't pretty or poetic. It was raw. It was necessary.
