“Ellie, I’m close.” He dropped his mouth to my shoulder. “Fuck, I can’t—you’re too good.”
His hand slid between us, rubbing tight circles over my clit, and I shattered. My back arched, body shaking as the orgasm tore through me. He didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, holding me down while I came apart underneath him.
“Good girl,” he whispered into my neck. “That’s it. Fucking perfect.”
He went still, a raw, guttural groan ripping from his chest as he came, grinding deep. His whole body tensed, like he was trying to drag it out. He cursed again, breath broken, hips twitching as he emptied inside me.
When he finally collapsed next to me, I couldn’t feel my legs. My body was Jello, shaking in the best way.
His hand stayed curled around mine, thumb brushing back and forth over my skin as our breathing slowed.
Then, finally, barely audible, almost ashamed, he whispered, “Still would’ve taken the crumbs.”
I turned to him, caught that messy, real smile, and let my eyes fall shut.
FORTY-ONE
Sawyer
I didn’t knowwhere her head was at. Hell, I wasn’t even sure where mine was.
So, I soaked it up and let myself have this—her—while I still could and hoped I wouldn’t hate myself when she inevitably walked away.
She was sprawled across my chest, asleep, hair sticking to her skin, still warm and flushed. It was just after nine in the morning now, but neither of us had moved much since we fell asleep a few hours ago.
I brushed her back lazily and leaned in.
“Hey,” I murmured.
She groaned, her eyes still shut. “Sleep.”
I grinned. “What if I told you I brought the journal?”
Her eyes snapped open. “You didn’t.”
I shrugged. “Figured after almost getting arrested, it wouldn’t hurt to bend the rules. It’s safer here. No chance of us breaking and entering again.”
She sat up, the sheet slipping dangerously low. “You could’ve mentioned that earlier.”
I smirked. “What, when you were too drunk to remember your own name? Or maybe when you were too busy riding my f?—”
She slapped a hand over my mouth, her cheeks flushed. “Sawyer.”
I laughed under her palm, and she pulled it away. “Suddenly shy, are you?”
“Asshole,” she muttered.
I got up, grabbed the journal from my drawer, and held it just out of reach.
“One page,” I warned.
She looked up, her eyes bright. “Yes, sir.”
“Careful, El.” My voice came out rougher than I meant it. “Or I’ll occupy you in other ways.”
But I gave her the journal anyway, because I already knew I wouldn’t say no to her. She smiled at me and flipped it open.
I can’t stop noticing him. The way he moves through the kitchen. The way the drawer slams when he’s angry, like it’s meant to remind me I’m not safe.
