That permission broke the last bit of holding back Marc had in him. Forget three rooms, there was two years' worth of hunger (not the body's, but Marc's) now demanding to be sated.

He kissed Harley hard and rough, moving into her firmer and faster in a way that suggested perhaps truck had been an underestimation for how - ahem - driven he could be.

It was clear he was chasing his own moment of letting it all go. But he snuck one hand down between them, fingertips dancing where she was sensitive and slippery, because the goal here wasn't to take but to have.