Her breath caught. Mine stopped.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“Eloquent.”
“Give me a second. My brain’s—” I rocked deeper, savoring the way she clenched around me. “Christ, Rose. You’re like everything I’ve been missing.”
She arched beneath me, hands roaming my back, learning me the way I was learning her. Nails dragging lightly made me shudder; teeth at the curve of my neck made me thrust harder, deeper, drawing a soft moan from her throat.
“There,” she whispered. “Like that.”
I gave her exactly that. Long, rolling strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside her, the bed creaking softly under us. She was exquisite like this: hair fanned across the pillow, lipsswollen, violet eyes locked on mine with quiet intensity. I could feel her tighten around my cock, fluttering, clenching.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I told her, voice rough. “Every inch of you. I could stay inside you forever and still want more.”
“Don’t get sentimental while you’re fucking me.”
“Too late.” I slid my hand between us, thumb finding her clit, circling with the same slow rhythm as my hips. “I’ve been sentimental since the moment you looked at me like I might be worth trusting.”
Her eyes went glassy. She pulled me down, kissed me deep, tongue stroking mine in time with our bodies, and I felt her start to tremble.
“Close,” she gasped. “Graham, I’m?—”
“I know, love.” I pressed my forehead to hers, holding her gaze. “Let me feel you come around me. Let me feel every pulse.”
She shattered quietly. Body clenching, a soft, broken moan spilling into my mouth. The rhythmic squeeze of her dragged me over with her, pleasure ripping through me in slow, devastating waves. I buried deep and groaned her name like a prayer.
We stayed locked together, breathing each other in, until the aftershocks faded.
“Okay,” Rose said to the ceiling, voice wrecked. “Maybe mornings off aren’t terrible.”
“I’ll tell Hank you said that.”
“You will not.”
I grinned. Kissed her knuckles. Held her until the world felt bearable again.
“Shower?” she said eventually.
“Together?”
She tilted her head up and looked at me. “Is that a problem?”
“That,” I said, “is the opposite of a problem.”
The shower was tiny,barely enough room for one, let alone two, which forced us skin-to-skin under the spray. Hot water pounded my shoulders and I groaned as knots began to unwind.
“Turn around,” Rose said.
I did. Her hands were magic. Firm thumbs digging into the tight muscles along my spine, working the knots between my shoulder blades with a pressure that made me drop my head forward.
“You’re a mess,” she said. “These knots have knots.”
“Blame your ranch.”
“I blame your terrible posture with the post driver.” Her hands moved lower, along my ribs, and paused.
I knew what she’d found.
