I wanted to fight it, wanted to flip us over and take control, to set the pace I was comfortable with. But something in his eyes, in his touch, made me surrender. Made me trust that he knew what I needed even better than I did.
The pleasure built differently this time—not the frantic climb I was used to, but something slower, deeper. It radiated through my entire body, gathering in my core like a storm building on the horizon.
“Hayes—”
“Call me by my name,” he said, voice low and dark.
“Tom.” His name came out broken, pleading.
He released my wrists, gathering me close, and I wrapped myself around him, clinging as he continued that maddening, perfect rhythm. “I’ve got you. Just feel it. Feel me.”
His thumb pressed harder against my clit, circling faster now, and the contrast between the slow thrust of his cock and the quick stimulation on my clit was too much. I felt myself spiraling, the pleasure cresting like a wave about to break.
“Come for me,” he whispered against my ear.
And I did.
This orgasm was different from the first—deeper, longer, more consuming. It started in my core and radiated outward, rolling through me in waves that seemed to go on forever. I cried out his name, my body clenching around him. He didn’t stop moving, didn’t chase his own pleasure yet. Instead, he worked me through it, drawing out every last tremor until I was trembling and gasping beneath him.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, kissing my temple, my cheek, my lips. “You’re always so beautiful when you come.”
Only then did his rhythm falter. His thrusts became shorter, more erratic, and I could feel him getting close. I tightened my legs around him, urging him deeper, wanting to feel him lose control the way he’d made me lose mine.
“Shay.” My name was a groan, coming out more like a curse. His body went rigid as he buried himself deep. I felt him pulse inside me, felt the tremors that wracked his frame, and something in my chest expanded, warm and dangerous and entirely too much like affection.
He collapsed onto me, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows, and we lay there breathing hard, hearts hammering in tandem. His face was buried in my neck, his breath hot against my skin, and I stroked a hand down his back.
“That was…” He trailed off, lifting his head to look at me.
“Yeah.” I smiled, feeling languid and satisfied in a way I hadn’t in longer than I could remember. “It really was.”
He kissed me, soft and sweet, then carefully pulled out. I winced at the sensitivity, already feeling the pleasant ache that would remind me of this tomorrow. He pulled me against him, tucking me into his side like I belonged there.
My fingers traced idle patterns across his chest, following the rise and fall of his breathing as it steadied. The room had cooled slightly, sweat drying on our skin, leaving us sticky and sated in the tangle of sheets. My hand drifted lower, across his ribs, down to his stomach, and I felt it—a ridge of scar tissue, slightly raised, running diagonal across his lower abdomen. It was perhaps three inches long, pale against his skin, the kind of mark that had healed long ago but never quite disappeared. I traced it with one fingertip, feeling the texture change under my touch.
“How did this happen?” My voice came quiet, intimate in the darkness.
His body went still at the question, something I felt more than saw. I doubted I would have even noticed it if we hadn’t been pressed together as we were.
“Childhood accident,” he said, and I traced the scar again, slower this time, feeling the way his muscles tensed slightly beneath my touch. There was a story here, buried under those two simple words.
I let the moment pass.
I continued to lie there longer, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and wondered what the hell I was getting myself into.
Whatever it was, it felt like falling.
But maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
10
Tom
Dating detective Sawyer was surprisingly easy.
Not easy in the sense that it required no effort—everything with her demanded constant awareness, a level of focus I couldn’t let slip, not even for a second. I had to be careful about what I let show, concealing parts of myself she wasn’t meant to see.
However, it was easy in the way breathing became easy once you stopped thinking about it. Natural. Right.
