Her hands slide down my back, fingers digging in as I move, as I press her deeper into the mattress. She meets me with equal fervor, breath sharp, gasps ragged, body molding to mine like we were made to be together.
I’m braced above her, forehead resting against hers as we move together while the heat builds and builds and builds ...
“Look at me,” I murmur against her lips.
Her eyes flutter open, heavy lidded, pupils blown wide. And damn if that sight alone doesn’t undo me.
When we finally shatter, it’s together.
I collapse against her, burying my face in the crook of her neck, my breath coming in uneven pants. Her fingers comb through my hair, slow and gentle, grounding me.
Finally, she exhales a breathless laugh.
“Well,” she murmurs, voice hoarse. “I’m so glad you’re not a murderer.”
“Nope. Just murdered your pussy.”
My body buzzes, oversensitized, and hers trembles slightly as she exhales. The air in the room is sticky with the smell of sex and shower gel and wet bodies.
I prop myself up on my elbows, peering down into her flushed face.
Beautiful.
Freckles.
Brown hair.
Strands of it stick to her damp forehead, and her lips are swollen from my kisses. Lucy looks like she belongs here, tangled in these sheets with me.
She blinks up at me, eyes still half lidded but sharp. “What are you thinking?” She smiles. “Sorry—I know guys hate when women ask that.”
Do they?
Lucy stretches, arms above her head, affording me the opportunity to lean forward and suck one of her nipples in my mouth.
Pink.
Perfect.
She inhales sharply, fingers threading through my hair before she seems to remember herself. Her hands slide down to my shoulders, pushing gently. “You need rest.”
I groan against her skin. “I need you more.”
She huffs out a laugh, shifting beneath me. “I’m serious.”
“I’m thinking that ... I’m going to be a mess at that logrolling bullshit.”
Lucy’s eyes go wide as she bolts upright. “Oh my God, you’re right.” She presses a hand to my ribs, gentle but firm, and winces. “The bruise is getting worse.”
“Well, I’m not going to no-show. Annabelle would kill me.”
Lucy shakes her head, lips pressing into a line. “No, she wouldn’t—she was on the phone with me when I thought a lunatic was breaking into my house. She’ll understand.”
I shake my head too. “No. Not doing that to her.”
Her fingers trail along my side, cautious but curious. “Harris—”
“I’m fine.” I catch her wrist and squeeze, not enough to stop her but enough to make her pause. “It’s not that bad.”
