Too slow—
Now too fast—
His fingers join, thrusting deep, curling just right.
Please—
More—
Don’t stop—
The pressure builds, unbearable, exquisite. I’m babbling, words fracturing.
“Marco— I can’t—”
“Let go,” he orders against my skin.
And I do.
Hot—
Wet—
Yes—
A small gush pulses out, soaking his chin. Hedoesn’t flinch. Just drinks it in, eyes locked on mine, dark with triumph.
“That’s my good girl,” he rasps, licking his lips. “Perfect. You taste so good. Like liquid candy.”
Later, we’re on the landing with tea. Real aftercare. Not the bathroom kind.
I’m wearing his T-shirt. He’s in sweats. We’re sitting on the floor with our backs against the wall because apparently tonight is a night for doing things that don’t make sense.
“Stay,” he says quietly.
“I am staying. Having tea. See?” I lift my mug.
“No.” He sets his mug down. Turns to look at me. “Stay tonight. Not as my employee. As my lover.”
The word hits different than I expect. Lover. Like something from a different era. More intimate than girlfriend. More honest than whatever we’ve been pretending this is.
“Okay,” I tell him. Because what else can I say?
We go back to the primary suite. The bed we’ve shared during crisis nights but never like this. Never on purpose.
He pulls me against him. My back to his chest. His arm around my waist.
“Sleep,” he murmurs into my hair.
And somehow, impossibly, I do.
33
Marco
Iwake up with Jess curled against my chest, her hair tickling my jaw, and for a moment I just lie there trying to remember the last time I felt this settled.
Can’t.
