Fury’s throat clicked when he swallowed. “Nate…What should…?”
“Stay.”
“Okay.”
“Swear we’ll work through the next mess together.”
Fury cupped Nathan’s face. “I swear it.”
Tension drained out of Nathan’s body for the first time since the warehouse had gone up in flames, smoke, and blood. “Kiss me again.”
Fury did, and Nathan got the door unlocked. They left a trail of clothes to the kitchen and didn’t make it any farther. They apologized and promised, and they took turns offering forgiveness, until Fury’s mouth was on Nathan, fingers in him, and Nathan went from chanting, “It’s okay,” to moaning, “God, yeah, please.”
Nathan turned, chest on the table, and Fury worked inside him, murmuring in Nathan’s ear. It was a rough, deep, desperate kind of making love, and Nathan was breathless and witless, lost under the weight of Fury’s body and in the way Fury refused to let go of Nathan’s hand.
“Love you,” Fury whispered.