I cry out as I'm pulled backward—surprised more than hurt—and suddenly I'm pressed against him in the pouring rain. Roger holds me tight, one hand around my upper arm, the other wrapped firmly around me, pressing my body to his. The feel of his hot skin against mine—my towel is gone, I have no idea where—makes me cry harder. I rest my forehead against his chest, because I know I can't have this. I can't.

"Cora!" Roger shouts above the wind and rain. "What—Cora! What the hell are you doing?!"

"I can't!" I sob. "I can't do this, Roger! I can't be with you like this, not if you'll you'll never love me! I can't have you in half measures!" I look up at him, into his face, realizing the truth in that moment. "I can't do this if you can't take me for who I am! Human! Broken! Complicated, difficult! Confused, jealous, and mad pretty much all the time! If you can't take me like that," I shout, begging now, "then let me go, Roger! Because I can't—"

I glance back at the hotel, my sobbing breaths tearing at my lungs. "I can't have half of you. I can't have justlust. It will kill me! It will break my heart, and I'll never survive it!" With my last words, I pound my free hand against his chest, my palm slapping wet against his skin.

Roger stares down at me as I confess everything—my whole heart—listening to every word. And then, when I'm done, when the words stop, and only my panting breath remains, he tightens his arms around me, giving me an angry little shake. He clenches his jaw, and I can tell he's mad, but I have no idea why.

"God damn it, Cora," Roger growls, glaring down at me. "You're my fucking mate."

He sweeps me into his arms—the gesture not sweet or romantic, but possessive, conclusive, incensed. "All I've ever wanted is all of you. My whole life, I've been waiting for this. And I was an idiot," he continues, his voice breaking. "I hesitated, and I'll regret it until the day I die, because there was no denying that all I want—all I'll ever want—is this—"

He kisses me, his mouth hard on mine, and my body reacts instantly, my back arching as I press harder against him. My arms are around his neck, pulling him closer, my mouth open to his as every piece of me—every molecule—gives in.

"He's mine," something in me screams to the universe. "And god damn it, if I can have him—"

The universe responds with a lightning crack above us, the rain pouring down as Roger presses me fervently to him and ravages my mouth with his kisses, as if the world is falling to pieces around us (which it very well might be). The water rushes around his ankles, threatening to sweep us away. But Roger stands firm, and something fierce within me sings that we can weather this, that I've been a fool to run. That we can face this storm, and whichever ones come next.

My hand is on his face when Roger pulls away. "Come on," he growls, his skin shivering in the cold rain. Thunder cracks again as he turns toward the motel. "I'm getting you inside. Now." He shakes his head, frustrated, and mutters, "You idiot."

I nod fervently, ignoring his insult, tucking my head against his shoulder and breathing hard as he carries me back. Barely above the sound of the storm, I hear him growl more frustrated words with every step, something about insane women who run naked into storms and how he should have known better, having met my sister, because madness is frequently genetic

I'm shocked to find myself smiling, laughing a little, and wrapping my arms more tightly around his neck. Because Roger is about to find out precisely how crazy I can really be.

The motel room door hangs open, blowing in the wind, but Roger ignores the rainwater pouring through it as he strides inside, kicking the door shut behind him, not bothering to lock it as he moves steadily toward the bed. He throws me down against the mattress, a little angry and not bothering to be gentle.

And, god damn it, I laugh again—a little recklessly—as I bounce against the tired springs of the worn-out motel bed. I laugh because he's so fucking mad at me, and I at him, and we're both so mad at ourselves, and I want to tear him to pieces, and I know he wants to do the same to me—

"Shut up," Roger growls, swiftly lowering himself to the bed and covering his body with mine. I grin as the corners of his mouth turn up, as he lays his cool, wet skin against mine, as he wraps his arms around me, one low behind my waist, the other tight behind my shoulders.

"Make me," I snarl back, my eyes narrowed and teasing.

And, god damn it, he does.

His mouth is on mine again, hard and fast, and I press my eyes shut, opening my mouth to him and sliding my leg up the outside of his thigh, wrapping it around his hips, pulling him closer.

There's nothing delicate or hesitant about us anymore—no more games, no more testing, no more pulling back. His hands are eager against my body as his tongue sweeps through my mouth, as I lean my head back to give him access to my throat, where he laps the rainwater off my skin like he's been thirsty for weeks.

His hands work quickly, unsnapping my bra clasp and then moving lower to grasp my panties, yanking them down. He pulls away for a moment, trying to make space to slide the panties off my legs, but I moan in protest, pulling him back, not wanting him away for a second.

"God damn it, Cora," Roger snarls, sending me a quick glare as the fabric is trapped between us, stopping him from— "Would you just let me do this?"

I laugh, realizing my mistake, and unloop my leg from around his back so he can slip the fabric off and toss it on the ground. An instant later he's back, his face pressed against my stomach as he kisses and licks his way up my body. I tear my bra off and toss it away, clearing the path for Roger to move up my chest and bring his face back to mine.

He groans slightly as he kisses me and moves a hand to capture one of my breasts, softly squeezing it in his broad palm. "Fuck," he moans, his body clenching so that he has to pull his mouth from mine. "Fuck, Cora, I've wanted this for so long—"

"Then fucking do it, Roger," I pant, impatient, wanting him now.