Gloriously, devastatingly, ruinously satisfied.
And still.
StillI want more.
The sweater hangs off one shoulder, and my legs are bare to the morning air. We tried to be quiet when we left the cottage, but I’m fairly certain we failed. I’m not even sure we closed the door.
Flora definitely knows.
“So,” I say. “What’s your plan for sneaking me in?”
Garrik casts a wry glance at the back of the house. “The porch creaks. So does the door. And the hallway. But the guest room window faces the orchard.”
I raise a brow. “You’ve done this before?”
He blushes. “Of course not?—”
“I’m teasing, Garrik,” I laugh, biting my lip. “Don’t worry…I’m not jealous. You made it very clear I’m it.”
I can see the question in his eyes as we get closer to the house, and I reach out to grasp his hand.
“And you…you know you’re it for me too, right?”
His cheeks flush the color of roses, and I’m totally gone.
He stops under the window, crouching so I can climb onto his back. I loop my arms around his shoulders as he rises—so effortlessly I gasp, thighs clamping reflexively against his sides.
“Careful,” he warns, voice low and teasing. “You do that again and we’re not making it through the window.”
I laugh and bite back a moan as he hikes me higher, lifting me to the sill. My thighs protest the stretch, sweetly sore, and when I brace one knee to climb through, the ache between my legs flares again—sharp, fluttering heat.
God, I feel him. Still. Even now.
Garrik steadies me and I turn to sit in the windowsill, on eye level with him. He touches my face with one big hand, thumb grazing over my cheekbone.
“I had a really good night,” I whisper.
His eyes soften. “I know. So did I.”
I lean forward, brushing a kiss to the tip of one twitching antenna, then slip inside the room before I lose all sense of propriety again.
The guest room looks exactly like I left it—quilted, soft, and oversized. But itfeelsdifferent now. I feel different. My thighs are still sticky with the faint scent of honey, my lips kiss-swollen, my core aching in this sweet, molten way that makes my toes curl in the rug. I pull on my pants—underwear lost somewhere in Garrik’s kitchen—and then my sweater. I consider my bra, but my nipples are hyper-sensitive from the honey and Garrik’s kisses, and I don’t think I can handle it the pressure.
When I glance in the mirror, my face is flushed, eyes bright. There’s a love bite blooming low on my throat.
I should be embarrassed. Ishouldcover it up.
But instead…I smile.
Because the truth is, I’ve never felt more claimed. More adored. More wanted.
And when I finally open the door and head toward the kitchen, I can already hear Flora’s voice floating down the hall, sing-song and far too smug.
“Morning, sunshine!”
I freeze halfway down the hall.
The cheerful clatter of dishes. The warm scent of honeycakes and spiced tea. Andthattone in Flora’s voice—like she already knows everything and is just waiting for me to admit it.
