I exhaled.
He wasn't trying to fix anything or mentally cataloging what needed organization. He wasn't suggesting I invest in better storage solutions. He was accepting it and accepting me.
"You sure?" I asked. "Because a rogue skein of yarn under the couch might come to life in another week."
"Positive." He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door next to mine. The gesture was casual,automatic, like he'd done it a hundred times before instead of maybe twice.
I should've offered him food. If I were a good host, I would've asked if he wanted coffee or if he'd eaten dinner. Instead, I closed the distance between us and kissed him.
He tasted like hot chocolate and winter—sweet and sharp all at once. His hands found my hips through my jeans, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
"Occupational hazard," I muttered against his mouth, gesturing vaguely at the yarn everywhere. "Mixing wool with athletes."
"Pretty sure noise complaints are the bigger threat." He kissed down my jaw and found that spot below my ear that made my knees wobble.
I laughed—couldn't help it. "You worried about my reputation?"
"I'm worried about mine." He grinned when he said it, hands already working on the buttons of my shirt.
We moved through my apartment in a stumbling dance—past the laundry chair, around the coffee table where three half-finished projects sat in various stages of completion, down the short hallway to my bedroom.
I kicked the door shut behind us. Rhett's hands were under my shirt, finding bare skin, and I forgot how to form complete sentences.
"Bed," I managed.
"Yeah."
We fell onto it together—less graceful than last time, and more urgent. My mattress groaned under our combined weight. Something clattered to the floor—probably the book I'd left on the nightstand, or maybe one of the dozen water glasses I kept forgetting to return to the kitchen.
"Your bedroom's a disaster," Rhett said, but he was already pulling my shirt over my head.
"You've seen it before."
"Still a disaster." He kissed my chest, working his way down. "Still like it."
The bed was unmade and held a pile of clean laundry I'd dumped there three days ago. Instead of bothering to move anything, I grabbed Rhett's flannel and yanked it off, throwing it toward the laundry pile.
He had my jeans off in record time, not even hesitating at the knee when my socks resisted. He yanked until he took the whole mess—pants, boxer briefs, and socks—and balled it up and launched it at the corner of the room.
I couldn't fake being self-conscious; he made it impossible, his hands everywhere, kneading the meat of my thighs, and tracing the scar on my right quad.
He kissed me like he meant it. Like he had a checklist of every way a body could be kissed and wasn't going to sleep until he'd ticked off all of them.
I tried to do the same, but I kept catching myself grinning in the middle of it, which made him do it too. Rhett propped himself up on one elbow and looked like he was about to launch into a heartfelt declaration, but what actually came out was, "You have a knitted raccoon on your dresser. It's staring at us."
It was true. One of Gram's old projects—a gray raccoon with beady eyes and a lopsided smile—perched at eye level, angled like it had front-row tickets to the chaos unfolding in my bed.
"It's my emotional support animal," I said.
Rhett snorted and then, for the next minute, neither of us could look at each other without cracking up. He pressed his forehead to my shoulder, shaking, and for a second I thought maybe we'd lost the thread of the whole thing—but then his handslid down my stomach, slow and deliberate, and I realized we hadn't lost anything.
"Sorry," I said. "You want me to put it away?"
"No. Let it watch. I like the pressure."
Rhett's fingers wrapped around my cock with practiced confidence. He stroked me slowly, thumb gliding over the head, and my brain ejected every thought except the simple fact of his touch.
I grabbed his hair and hauled him in for a messier, deeper kiss. He let me set the pace, rough and greedy, and when I rolled him under me again, I saw the hunger in his eyes.
