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“It’s a statement of fact.”

I laughed, breathless, and kissed him.

He turned us until my hips met the edge of the worktable.

Papers crumpled beneath my hands.

I looked down.

“Wait.”

Damien froze.

I grabbed Saturday’s route sheet and the old laminated plan and threw both onto the chair.

“Now.”

His laugh was low and rough.

“That was your concern?”

“I refuse to explain suspicious stains on operational documents.”

Then he kissed me hard enough that I forgot the rest of the joke.

He pushed my jeans farther down my thighs.

I kicked one boot free, then the other, and worked one leg completely out of my jeans and underwear, managing the process considerably better than I had the night before.

“See?” I said. “Growth.”

“You’re very proud of yourself.”

“I am.”

His cock slid through my wet folds.

The humor vanished.

I gripped the edge of the table.

He looked at me.

“Tell me.”

“Yes.”

He pushed inside me.

I moaned.

There was no slow adjustment this time. I knew the thick stretch now and relaxed into it as he drove deeper until his hips met mine.

Damien’s hands locked around my waist.

“Fuck.”

I kissed him because I needed his mouth as much as I needed the pressure inside me.