“I told you we should’ve gone to town yesterday,” I murmur, half-entranced by the way he keeps rubbing the head along the crease in my thigh, up one side and then down the other, over and over again.

“You feel so good.” He circles my most sensitive skin, and I moan. “Just two strokes bare, Lainey, please.”

The toaster pops behind me. “The bagels are ready.”

“Fuck the bagels.”

“That might hurt.” I suck in a breath as he drags the head of his erection down, parting my lips, passing my entrance. “One stroke. In and out. That’s it,” I say before I fully consider the ramifications.

RJ’s eyes flip up to mine, and his chest rises and falls. His gaze drops, and so does mine. “You’re sure?” He’s right there, hand shaking, erection kicking in his fist.

“Once. One time.”

The head slips in, both of us look down, and I clench around him. It’s such a terrible, wonderful idea. He pushes in another inch on a low groan. “God, Lainey, look at you.” He frames my sex with his hands, thumbs sweeping over me, and pushes all the way in.

I moan, long and low and desperate. Because it feels so good, and I know it’s so wrong and bad and dangerous. But I wrap my legs around his waist anyway, keeping him in me as I roll my hips. His mouth drops open, and his lids flutter, his fingertips digging into my thighs as his forehead comes to rest against mine. “You feel so good like this—so fucking good, Lainey.”

“You too.” I unhook my legs from his waist and put a hand on his chest. “But it’s not safe.”

His lust-heavy gaze meets mine, torn and desperate. He looks down, and I follow his eyes, watching as he eases out on a plaintive groan. As soon as the ridge appears, I push him back and slip off the counter, dropping to my knees. Engulfing the head, I taste my own need. RJ’s hands slide into my hair as I take him in as far as I can.

We end up on the floor, me straddling his face while I take him in my mouth, competing to see who can make the other come first. I would’ve won if he hadn’t added his fingers.

Afterward we toast new bagels and drink lukewarm coffee for breakfast. “That can’t happen again,” I say between bites of bagel.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’ve always been safe in the past and that we’ll be safe from here on out. I got carried away. Right after this we’ll go to town and stock up, okay?” He leans in and kisses my cheek, lips moving to my ear. “You feel like velvet, and you taste like heaven. I would stay inside you forever if I could.”

I push away from the table. “I’m getting dressed so we can go.”

“Good idea.”

Fifteen minutes later, RJ and I are fully dressed and ready for an outing so we can restock condoms—and maybe food, although that is definitely second on the to-do list.

It’s fairly warm today, crisp like that time between spring and summer in Washington.

He spins the truck keys on his finger. “You know what we should do?”

“If it involves your penis and my vagina, it needs to wait until we get back from our shopping trip.”

He grins wolfishly. “You have a one-track mind, don’t you?”

“Only when I’m around you, apparently,” I mutter.

“Lainey! Catch!” RJ shouts.

I raise both hands defensively, because I am not known for my excellent reaction time, and am rather surprised when my fist closes around the object he’s tossed my way. “I am not good at catching things, so I don’t suggest you do that again.”

“You can be good at anything if you practice enough,” RJ replies.

I glance down at my palm and find I’m holding his truck keys. “I don’t have my license, remember?”

“I know. I’m going to teach you how to drive.”

I glance at his monster rental truck with all the bells and whistles. “No. Nope. No way.” I toss the keys back to him. My aim is terrible, but he still manages to snag them out of the air before they hit the ground.

“Why not?”

“What happens if I ruin that truck?” My father has the base model, and it’s expensive as heck. I can’t afford to ruin a truck.

“You’re not going to ruin it, Lainey. I’ll be right beside you, teaching you what to do. We’ll take it slow.”

“But I might scratch the paint. Or hit something.” I’ve seen a lot of roadkill on our trips to town. I would prefer not to add to that body count.

RJ arches a brow. “You grew up on a farm. You have to have driven a tractor.”

I cross my arms over my chest. Of course I’ve driven a tractor. “Not the same, and you know it.” I can back up into the fence or accidentally hit the side of the barn and no one will get mad at me for scratching it, since farm machinery is meant to get beaten up.

A half grin tips up the corner of RJ’s mouth. “You’re right, not the same at all. A tractor is way more difficult to drive than a truck. You’ll be a pro in no time.”

“Tractors are meant to be ridden hard—trucks like this one, not so much.” I make a flaily gesture toward his sporty, unscratched, undented rental. It’s rather intimidating and fancy.

His half smile turns into a full-on grin, and his eyes move over me in a slow, hot sweep. “I’ll make you a deal.”