His mouth opened and closed several times, no sound coming out. Finally he managed, “You were doing that on purpose?”
I smiled wickedly and winked at him. “Just because I feel like shit ninety-nine percent of the time doesn’t mean I’m a nun. I still like it when you get hard for me.”
Something shifted in his expression. The embarrassment faded, replaced by heat. He leaned closer, close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin, and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
“I’m never not hard for you, love,” he murmured against my skin.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Even now?”
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. Then, slowly, deliberately, he took my hand and guided it down to his crotch.
We stared at each other as my palm made contact. And he was... well. Hard as steel. Straining against his pants with an urgency that made my breath catch.
A rush of warmth washed over me. “Oh,” I whispered.
I stroked him through the fabric, watching his jaw clench, watching his eyes go dark with want. He bit his lip, trying to stay quiet, but a low groan escaped anyway.
“Lina...” His voice came out raspy, strained.
“Kiss me,” I ordered.
He didn’t hesitate. His mouth was on mine in an instant, desperate and hungry and full of everything he couldn’t put into words. I kissed him back with equal intensity, pouring all my frustration and hurt and love into the press of our lips.
One of his hands slid down my body, finding the space between my thighs. He stroked me through my clothes and I moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss. My own hand kept moving against him, feeling him pulse and twitch under my palm.
It didn’t take long. We were both too wound up, too desperate for connection after days of distance and hurt. I came first, gasping against his lips, my whole body shuddering with release. He followed seconds later, groaning my name as he spilled into his pants.
We stayed there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.” I pulled back and hugged him tightly, burying my face in his neck. “Please don’t do stupid shit again or I’ll be forced to fill all of your underwear with itching powder.”
He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’d put your favorite part of my body in danger?”
Shit. He had a point there.
“All of your body is my favorite part,” I admitted. “You’re right, though. Maybe I’ll just torture you psychologically instead.”
He snorted. “You can’t torture me psychologically. I’m a strong man. I can resist anything you throw at me.”
“I’ll stop talking to you. See how you can resist that.”
The smugness drained from his face immediately. “Please no.”
I smiled. He smiled back. The tension that had been between us for days finally started to dissolve, not completely gone but fading. Becoming manageable.
He hugged me again and we stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other. Breathing each other in. Remembering why we’d chosen this, chosen each other, despite all the complications and challenges that came with it.
A knock on the door interrupted the moment.
“The police are here,” Noah called through the wood. “They have news.”
I pulled back from Knox, suddenly aware of what we’d just done and how obvious it probably was. My cheeks flushed. Knox helped me stand, his hands steady on my waist as I found my balance.
We walked out of the room together. Noah was waiting in the hallway, his expression carefully neutral. He didn’t say anything about the way we smelled, which I appreciated more than I could express. Thank the goddess for brothers-in-law with discretion.
The police officers were waiting in the main ICU hallway, Sarah already there chatting with them in that friendly way she had with everyone. She caught my eye as we approached and gave me a small, reassuring nod.
