The rain pounded against the entrance of the cave, a relentless curtain of silver that turned the world outside into a blur. Inside, the air was thick, heavy, charged with something neither of them could name but both understood.
Lucas's restraint shattered.
He reached for her—rough, desperate, like a man who had spent too long denying himself. His hands found her waist, fingers digging in as he pulled her against him. Lena gasped at the sudden force, her body colliding with his, every inch of him solid, burning, as if the fever inside them had finally found release.
Her breath hitched. "Lucas—"
He didn't let her finish. His hands moved, tracing the damp fabric that clung to her body, the curve of her back, the dip of her waist. She trembled beneath his touch, a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold.
They were past words now.