The sound of the car faded, leaving only the thunder of two hearts pounding in the dark. Stefan didn’t move, still buried deep inside her, his forehead resting against the tree beside her head. His breath was hot and ragged on her cheek.
“They’re gone,” Hazel whispered, the words feeling foreign. Her body was a map of new sensations, the scrape of bark, the deep, throbbing fullness, the cool air on her sweat-slicked skin.
“They are,” he rumbled, his voice thick. Slowly, he withdrew, and she whimpered at the sudden, aching emptiness. “But we’re not finished.”
In one smooth motion, he pulled her legs from around his waist and lowered her, not to her feet, but down the rough trunk until her back met the soft, damp carpet of the forest floor.
The leaf litter was cool and yielding, a stark
