The Last Time

"You're insane, Kate," he breathed, not pulling away from my lips.

I felt his fingers on my waist, hot even through the thin cotton of my sundress. The pines outside the window were rustling, but all I could hear was his breathing—ragged, uneven.

"Artem, stop talking," I said, tugging at his belt buckle myself. "We already decided."

Yeah, we decided. Yesterday, when he drove me out to this godforsaken cabin, while my husband stayed in the city for a meeting. We'd traded looks over dinner, drank wine, pretended to watch the sunset over the lake. But inside, everything was on fire.

"I want you," I whispered, digging my nails into his shoulder. "Right now."

He laughed, low and cocky, and scooped me up. My thighs locked around his hips as he carried me to the wide bed in the loft. My sundress bunched up around my waist, and I could feel the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against my bare legs.

"Get it off," I ordered, as he lowered me onto the cool sheets.

Artem ripped his t-shirt off in one motion, and I bit my lip. Broad shoulders, hard abs, a light stubble. He hovered over me, palms planted on either side of my head, and I could see the dark fire lighting up his eyes.

"You sure?" he asked, even as his fingers worked the buttons on my sundress.

"Shut up," I breathed, reaching for his fly.

His jeans hit the floor. I wrapped my hand around his cock—warm, hard, pulsing. He groaned through his teeth as I ran my thumb over the head.

"Fuck, Kate..."

I spread my legs, feeling my panties already soaked. Artem pulled them down, and I was completely open to him. For a second, I felt a flash of awkwardness—he was my husband's best friend, after all—but then he covered my mouth with a kiss, greedy and deep, and every thought flew out of my head.

"You're so fucking wet," he whispered, dragging his fingers through my folds. I arched into him, clawing at his back.

"Don't tease."

He pushed into me hard, one sharp thrust, and I cried out, digging my nails into his shoulders. He paused for a moment, letting me adjust, but I rolled my hips against him.

"Fuck me," I whispered. "Harder."

Artem started moving—slow at first, almost gentle, then building up the pace. I could hear the bed creaking, the wet sounds filling the room, him growling my name. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I grabbed his hair, pulling his face to mine.

"I want to see your face when you come," he growled, speeding up.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, feeling the hot wave building inside me. His cock slid in and out, deeper and harder each time, until I lost track of everything but his body, his smell, his hands gripping my thighs.

"Yes, yes, more," I moaned, not holding back anymore.

He flipped me onto my stomach, and I got on my knees, pressing my forehead into the pillow. Artem entered me from behind, and I groaned at the new depth. His palm slapped my ass, and I flinched, clenching around him.

"Fuck, so tight," he breathed, slowing down. "You're incredible."

"Don't you dare stop," I ordered, pushing back against him.

He laughed, low and dirty, and leaned over me, pressing me into the mattress. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered filthy things that made my elbows buckle. I came with a scream, arching and shaking, feeling him spill inside me in hot spurts.

We collapsed side by side, breathing hard. An owl called outside, and fish splashed in the lake. Artem turned to me, grinning.

"And you said it didn't mean anything."

I laughed, hitting him with a pillow.

"It really doesn't mean anything," I said, but something twisted inside me. "Just a fuck."

"Just a fuck," he echoed, his hand sliding down my stomach, lower. "But maybe we can do it again? Before your husband gets back?"

I looked at him—that cocky smile—and felt the heat building inside me again. The lake lapped at the shore outside, and the cabin smelled of pine and sex.

"You've got half an hour," I said, reaching for his lips.