Two weeks before we’re supposed to fly back to Seattle, we run out of condoms. It’s not really a surprise, considering how quickly we’ve been going through them. We’re in the kitchen, making coffee and toasting bagels, me in my favorite uniform—one of RJ’s flannel plaid shirts—and him in his boxer briefs.

He reaches over me, erection poking me in the hip as he grabs two mugs from the cupboard above my head. He sets them in front of me, moves my hair aside, and presses a wet kiss to my neck. He follows that with the gentle scrape of teeth.

“RJ.” It’s more moan than warning.

“How am I supposed to resist you, especially when I know there’s nothing under that shirt.” His fingers dip beneath the hem and skim along bare skin. I bat his hand away, spin to face him, and put a palm on his chest. Not that it’s much of a deterrent, since I hum in appreciation instead of pushing him away—and brush my thumb over his nipple. In the short weeks RJ and I have had to explore each other’s bodies, I’ve discovered that his nipples are a hot zone. So are his neck and the V of muscle at his hips, leading to the hottest hot zone of all.

He grabs me by the waist, picks me up, and deposits me on the counter. His palms curl over my knees.

“It’s been, what, two hours?” I drag my nails down the side of his neck and relish his low groan.

“Two hours too long. I’m going through withdrawal.” He puts pressure on the insides of my knees, a silent request to let him in.

I spread my legs, my appetite for him as voracious as his is for me. “We need to go to town.”

“We will, but breakfast and orgasms first, and not necessarily in that order.” RJ slides his warm, rough palms up my thighs, biting his lip as he pushes the flannel up, exposing me. I’m already wet. It’s pretty much perpetual with RJ. “Fuck, Lainey.”

“Not until after we go to town.” The statement comes out a little breathless—but also with conviction. I internally pat myself on the back for being responsible.

RJ rests his forehead against mine. “I could just slip it in there for a couple of strokes, like two or three. That’d be okay, right?”

I snort a laugh. It’s definitely not a becoming sound at all. And it turns into a moan when RJ pulls his boxer briefs down and rubs the head of his erection along the inside of my thigh.

“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.”