She cries out, and I feel her clamp around me, the shock of her pleasure pulling me over the edge. I thrust deep one final time and come with a ragged groan, pouring everything I am into her.
We collapse in a tangle of limbs and gasping breaths. Her skin is sticky against mine, her body soft and pliant as I pull her on top of me, holding her close.
For a long time, neither of us speaks.
Then she lifts her head, hair wild, lips kiss-bruised. “So, uh… definitely going in the book.”
I laugh, low and raw as she snuggles against me.
Chapter 9
Harper
I wake up sore in the best possible way. My entire body feels like it’s been worshipped and wrecked. And I never want that feeling to end.
The sheets are tangled around my legs. The sun peeks through the curtains, soft and golden, and somewhere downstairs, I can hear the low clatter of someone making coffee. Dean.
God, Dean.
The memory of last night crashes over me. His mouth, his hands, the way he looked at me like I was something he’d been starving for. The way he held himself back. The way he whisperedminein that growling voice right before we both came undone.
I stretch lazily, wincing a little, and I swear I can still feel the imprint of his hands on my hips.
I’m drifting back to sleep when I feel the bed dip beside me. A large, warm body slides under the sheets.
“I can hear you thinking," Dean mumbles against my hair.
“Just wondering if Boris will be scandalized.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Probably writing a strongly worded letter to Emma as we speak.”
His voice is low and dangerous right beside my ear. “You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”
A shiver runs straight through me. I roll onto my back just as Dean’s mouth finds my neck.
“I’m sore,” I murmur, though it comes out breathless and needy.
“I know.” He kisses lower, over my collarbone. “But you’re not too sore.”
“I might be.”
“Liar.”
His hand trails under the sheet, between my thighs—and when he presses two fingers to the center of me, he groans.
“Already wet for me.” His voice is gravel and heat. “God, you drive me crazy.”
He kisses down my stomach, slow and deliberate, and then licks me—long, slow, possessive—until I’m writhing and gasping and grabbing the headboard for leverage.
But he doesn’t let me finish. Not yet.
He climbs up my body, gripping my jaw with one hand. “Get on your hands and knees.”
The command sends a bolt of heat through me so sharp I can barely breathe.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
