“Fucking hell,” he pants. “You’re gonna wreck me.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” I whisper, licking again.
His rhythm stutters. Sweat beads on his chest. His eyes darken to something deeper, something hungry and raw.
“Not gonna last long, darlin’.”
“Then let me finish you.”
We shift and I take him into my mouth again, this time with purpose. I suck hard, deep, my hands wrapped tight around his hips as he loses himself completely.
“Charlie—fuck—Charlie?—”
When he comes, it’s with a choked cry and a shudder that rocks his whole body. I swallow him down, every drop, holding him through it, feeling a wicked pride bloom in my chest.
When it’s over, he collapses beside me, pulling me into his arms like he needs me against him to breathe.
I nestle in close, lips brushing the line of his jaw.
“You really are gonna destroy me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse with awe.
I grin, smug and sweet. “Only if you’re lucky.”
17
I wake up feeling full of hope. Sam’s still asleep next to me, so I quietly slip out of the bed to shower and dress. When I pad into the kitchen, Phern is sitting at the island, reading a book.
“Hi.”
She smiles. “Hi. Sam still asleep?”
I pour myself a cup of coffee and nod. “Yeah.”
She snorts. “He never sleeps in. You’re a good influence on him.”
I smile into my coffee mug, cheeks flushing just a little. “I think I wore him out.”
She closes her book and sets it aside, eyeing me with an expression that’s almost fond. It’s the softest she’s looked at me since I got here. No suspicion. No edge. Just that kind of quiet appraisal that says she’s seeing me and not the version she assumed I was.
“You look different this morning,” she says. “Lighter.”
“I feel different. Hopeful, I guess.”
She hums, considering. “It’s funny, you know. I alwaysthought if Sam ever opened himself up again, it’d be to someone quiet. Safe. Predictable.”
“Thanks?” I laugh, half amused, half uncertain.
“I mean it in a good way,” she says, waving a hand. “You’re none of those things. You are fire and instinct. And maybe that’s exactly what he needed.”
I glance toward the hallway, where the bedroom door is still shut. “He’s something.”
“That he is,” she says softly. “But you’ve already seen that.”
We sip our coffee in companionable silence for a moment.
Then, almost too casually, she asks, “You gonna stay?”
My breath catches slightly, the question heavier than her tone makes it sound. I set my mug down, heart thudding.
