“Add some more spit,” Heath mumbled, looking half out of it.
I pulled out and spit on my finger, then pressed it back in.
“Curl it.”
Curl it? Oh, right. I’d heard about that magic P-spot. I sank my finger in as far as it would go from this angle, then curved my finger upward. I wasn’t sure what to look for. With women, it was always challenging finding the G-spot, so when in doubt, I’d always gone for a clitoral orgasm, which was often easierto accomplish if—according to the women’s magazines I’d read in waiting rooms when I’d been bored out of my mind—less intense.
Heath didn’t react, which meant I probably hadn’t found it. I shifted a little to the left. Nope. To the right, then?
Heath bowed off the bed. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
Bingo.
I gently rubbed that exact spot, and Heath’s moans changed into a heated symphony of sighs and groans, with unintelligible mumblings in between. The only thing I could make out was “So good” and, at one point, “Don’t stop.”
As if.
I could feel the tension in his body increase, his muscles going taut, and I kept my efforts up. Edging might be fun for another time, but my hand was cramping from the unfamiliar angle. Besides, I wanted to see him come.
“Oh, fuck…” Heath grunted. Then, “Nngghhh!”
He shuddered, then came, shooting his load in and all over my hand. I slowed down, pumping him gently until he sagged like an empty balloon. What was the protocol here? Did I clean up immediately? Stay and cuddle? I was so out of my depth.
Then Heath blinked slowly and smiled at me with this lazy, satisfied smile, and all my doubts dissipated. I wiped my hand on the covers, then stretched out next to him and held out my arm. He immediately snuggled close, putting his head on my shoulder.
This was nice.
This was more than nice.
This was…
Perfect.
CHAPTER TWENTY
HEATH
I stretched out on my bed, grimacing as a muscle pulled in my back, but the pain was an afterthought with Creek’s voice in my ear. I felt like a kid again—sort of high on endorphins of young love. Every time he spoke, it sent shivers down my spine.
“When can I see you again?” I asked him after he finished telling me about his day. It had been exactly twenty-four hours since he’d left my apartment, and I knew I was supposed to play it cool, but I couldn’t. As my kids would say, I had zero chill and no idea how to find it.
Creek laughed softly. “You ain’t sick of me yet?”
I pushed up on my elbow and flexed my hip, raising my stump into the air to stretch the tight tendons. “Is that a serious question?”
“Partly,” he admitted. I could hear the vulnerability in his voice, and I knew that a little too well. Not just from my injury but also as the child of parents who constantly searched for my weaknesses so they could be exposed as proof that I’d done all the wrong things with my life.
I sighed and dropped down, starfishing in my too-empty bed. “I know this whole honeymoon thing will calm down eventually, but I can’t see myself getting sick of you.”
“Mm,” he hummed, sounding like he didn’t believe me. Which was fair. We’d had one date and one orgasm. I might have been getting ahead of myself. “Say that when we spend a weekend together and I’m ripe with morning breath and a pre-caffeine attitude.”
I turned my head, grinning into my pillow. “You want to spend a weekend with me?”
“Oh, darlin’.” He sighed softly. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve reminded myself we need to take it slow, I’d be rich enough to buy you one of those fancy coffees.”
“When can I see you again?” I repeated, grinning harder.
He chuckled. “I have a couple appointments today and tomorrow, but after that, I’m all yours.”
