"The sun says otherwise."
"The sun is wrong." She pressed closer, which I wouldn't have thought possible. "Also, I can't move. I think you broke me."
"You broke yourself. You're the one who insisted on round... what was it, four?"
She lifted her head just enough to glare at me, though the effect was ruined by her sleep-mussed hair and the satisfied smile she couldn't quite hide. "Excuse me, but I'm pretty sure you broke my vagina. Like, actually broke it. I may need medical attention."
I burst out laughing. "Your vagina is not broken."
"It might be. It definitely feels... thoroughly used. Possibly sprained. Is that a thing? Can you sprain a vagina?"
"Steph—"
"I'm serious! You and your..." she gestured vaguely at my body, "ridiculous masculine perfection performed like a champion last night. Like an Olympian. Gold medal level performance in our personal fuck-a-thon."
"Fuck-a-thon?" I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. "Did you just call last night a fuck-a-thon?"
"What would you call it? Love-making marathon? Sexual Olympics? The Great Banging of 2024?"
"Jesus Christ, Steph."
"Don't act shocked by my crudeness now. You seemed to appreciate it at three AM when I was telling you exactly where to put your?—"
I kissed her to shut her up, rolling her onto her back, and she came willingly, laughing against my mouth.
"Seriously though," she said when we broke apart, her hands roaming over my chest, tracing the muscles there with obvious appreciation. "Your body is ridiculous. Like, offensively perfect. All these..." she squeezed my bicep, "delicious muscles. It's very unfair to womankind."
"You seemed to appreciate them last night."
"Oh, I did. Multiple times. Hence the potentially broken vagina."
"Your vagina is not broken,” I repeated.
"You don't know that. You haven't checked." She grinned wickedly. "Maybe you should examine the situation. You know, for medical purposes."
I arched a brow playfully. “Medical purposes?"
"Purely scientific. We need data."
I was already kissing down her throat, tasting the salt of last night's exertions still on her skin. "Data collection is very important."
"Critical," she agreed breathlessly as my mouth found her breast. "Thorough examination required."
I worked my way down her body slowly, reacquainting myself with every inch—the tiny scar on her ribs from falling out of a tree at ten, the way her stomach muscles contracted when I kissed just below her navel, the bruises on her hips from my hands last night that made me feel simultaneously guilty and possessive.
"Lee," she gasped, her hands tangling in my hair as I kissed the inside of her thigh. "Please..."
I was just about to give her what she was begging for when her phone rang.
We both froze.
"Ignore it," she said, tugging on my hair.
I tried. I really did. But the phone kept ringing. Stopped. Started again immediately.
"Fucking hell," she muttered, the mood thoroughly shattered.
I could see the screen from where I was:Robert - Manager.
