Hap's no less desperate to stop thinking. To purge his mind of Prairie, of Leon, of the despicable tryst he's in the middle of. Soon he can't tell whose rhythm is meeting whose. A cacophony of wanting flesh, her heat surrounding him, spreading into him. Being in sync with someone like this is intoxicating. He grips her with both hands, nails digging into her hips, broad fingers bruising her waist. Labored breaths, angered moans, start to drown out the relentless slap of their bodies.

As the pressure mounts, he can't help himself. He reaches around her waist and pulls her to him, back to chest. Hap holds her tight, breast groped, hand locked around her hip. Her hair snags on his lips, his mouth dragging along her ear as he thrusts into her from behind and below.

"Joan," he growls, accusing himself with her name.