“WELL, I CONFESS THAT it’s not my best work.” Sophie frowns down at the somewhat burned cheese omelet that she’s plated for me. “But I’m used to a kitchen that’s a little more... well, more.”

“My best friend used to say that it all came out the same way.”

I blush after I’ve said it, knowing that it’s mildly disgusting. It was something Jace used to say though, anytime dinner didn’t come out quite the way his mother wanted. And she did all the cooking; they had one of those ‘traditional’ families where the man came home and put his feet up while the wife kept working, even though she’d been cleaning and raising kids all day.

Sophie’s face scrunches up, as if she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Finally, she laughs. And, God, I love that sound. “Well, let’s hope that holds true here. Because I’m pretty sure the mushrooms were nearly black when I folded them into the eggs. And I don’t think that was from the pepper that exploded out of the container.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been meaning to buy a new shaker set.” I pull the plate to me, across the tiny bar area that is near the tiny sink area. I smile as I reach for the just-cleaned fork she offers me. And I try to keep the smile in place as I take a bite of the omelet. It isn’t the eggs that are bad, it’s really the mushrooms inside. They are so overcooked that they almost taste like chemicals. Apparently, I’m not convincing enough because Sophie’s face falls into a frown.

“Shoot, it’s that bad huh?” She crosses her arms and looks sullen. “Well, guess that’s me off to pick up some fast food. What’s your poison?”

“You don’t have to do that. Really, I like it.”

“You’re lying through your teeth, soldier boy.”

“Well, if I have to pick a poison, this will do.” I tilt the plate to indicate the omelet and wait for her reaction. The frown melts upward into a wide grin. And the laughter comes back. I join her this time, our voices filling the small space of the camper in seconds, until we are wrapped up comfortably in a sort of sad joy.

Sophie leans over then and kisses me. It starts out a small gesture, a soft brush of lips, but I push into her, bracing myself against the counter so that I can stand and pull her against me. I like how small she is, how it feels like I can protect her no matter what comes. My arms wrap around so far that I can reach past my own elbows.

“Jesus, Sophie. You feel so good.”

She nuzzles up against me, as if she’ll push into my body and become part of me. That scares and excites me— that anyone might still want to be with me fully, accepting everything I am. Because, shit, I’ve got so much darkness inside of me that I’d give Alaska’s winter a run for its money. Shadows and demons and voices in my fucking head.

But here she is, letting me hold her, not pulling away. I kiss the top of her head and she pulls back just enough to tilt her head and offer up her mouth again. I lower my own mouth without a second invitation. She bites my lower lip gently, tugging at it and sighing a little when I loosen my hold on her so I can run my fingers down her sides and grip her hips. With one hand, I push everything off of the small counter space to collide loudly in the sink, unfinished eggs and all.

She jumps to help me lift her up to sit on the countertop. She’s wearing the same outfit from yesterday, minus the leather jacket that’s probably still on the floor of the bedroom in the house. The jeans are so tight that her ass is rock hard curved against the kitchen counter. I dig my fingers into them, clawing for purchase. Her gasps spur me onward.

My hands find the hem of her shirt and my fingers snake their way upwards, finding the lace bra that has no padding, so everything can be felt through the thin material. Another gasp as I pinch firmly, that so sensitive spot in the center of her right breast.

“You got a bed in here?” she breathes out, sliding her butt against the counter closer to me until our groins are pressed together. I can feel myself getting hard and ready. She can feel it too.

“It’s a bit small,” I admit, moving my fingers around her back to unsnap her bra.

“Right here then,” she pushes her way off the counter and begins to frantically unbutton her jeans. There’s passion in her hurry, need. And that makes me harder. A woman wants me again and again. Not just once as a pity fuck.

I help her yank her jeans down and she undoes the zipper on mine, not bothering with the button. Her slender, pale freckled hand finds its way into the opening she’s created and she pulls me out, so rough that I can’t stifle my own gasp.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, looking down at the length of me, the heat a fire in her eyes now.

“Don’t be,” I growl running my hands once again over the firmness of her ass, my fingers beneath the lace stretch of her panties.

Instead of lifting her up on the counter again, I whirl her around and push her upper half down against the counter. It’s such a small space that her hands can reach the faucet. She grips it for support, to steady herself for what’s coming.

I position, rubbing my fingers over her opening that’s already wet and ready. I shove myself inside of her with little warning. I love the way she sounds when she gasps in surprise. She doesn’t pull away. She leans into it. I love her little yelps as I work my way inside slowly, fraction by fraction, until I’m filling every part of her up. She feels so good, warm and soft.

I want to go slow this time. I want to make it last longer. But I can’t.

I pull out, leaving only the tip of myself inside of her, and then I shove forward again, hard and fast. I cannot stop now, I can’t slow down and start this over. I want her. I want her so damn bad.

In and out, I drive into her. So fast that my heart is racing, and she’s trying not to scream. I see her fingers gripping the faucet and the counter top, so firmly that her knuckles have gone white. I can feel the tension in her body as warmth builds inside her. I feel the way she swells around me.

God, I want to last a little longer.

I slam into her one more time, ramming the length of myself so far that I wonder if I’ve hurt her. But she’s screaming my name and pushing back against me so that no space exists between our bodies. I pour into her, hot and hard, a stream of violence and pleasure. It’s not enough. It’s like the more I have her, the more I want her. A spell of sex and acceptance.

“Jesus,” Sophie pants. I’ve pulled out of her and moved back to lean against the cabinets on the other side of the camper. She’s turned towards me, her hair mussed and her eyes wild. I’m glad she’s enjoyed it. I want her to enjoy it. “Where’ve you been all my life, soldier boy?”

We’re still undressed, still exposed. I push forward and hug her hard against me. “Waiting,” I whisper throatily. “Waiting for you.”

A chill runs through me when I say it. Like... like I shouldn’t have said it. Like Sophie isn’t the one for me and, deep down, I know it. But right now, all I want is to bask in what we’ve just done. I don’t want to let go of how she makes me feel.

Like a man. Unbroken and able to give her what she needs.