Grey pulls me into his side, kisses me until I try and wind myself around him again.
"I'm a mess, peaches." I look down, stare at the come dripping and pooling in the ridges of his abs, those little valleys inside his hips that angle down to his cock.
"God, that's hot," I whisper.
"You did that, baby."
I groan, slinging my leg over his thigh and pressing my clit to the hard muscle. "Goddammit, Grey."
He chuckles, half sitting to look around. His hair is all ruffled and mussed and sexy. When he finds what he wants, he lays back, and I look in his hand to find my ruined pink panties.
And then I watch him clean come off himself with them. He swipes them across his abs, his chest, smearing the come a little before it's gone.
My thigh is locked around his, my hips rocking. "Jesus," I breathe. He's smirking, going about his task while I shamelessly hump his leg. He takes my sticky hand and cleans it off carefully, wiping between each finger. The intimacy twists my chest, makes my throat close up.
"Grey--"
"Shh," he soothes. "I've got you."
When he's finished, he tosses the panties onto the floor and pulls me into his arms.
His heart gallops against my ear pressed up against his chest, and I listen to it gradually slow as his hand trails up and down my spine. His other hand plays with my hair, fingers combing through the curls.
"I think you fucked me into another timeline."
"Just you wait," he rumbles.
"Do I have to?"
Another amused sound is his only answer, and we lay there together happily. I should move. Put some space between us. Remember the rules, put in place so I don't get hurt. Don't expect too much. But I think it might be too late for that. The realization should scare me, send me running.
I burrow deeper into his chest, breathing him in. I don't want to leave his arms. I don't want him to go. I want to be with him all the time--I hate when we're apart. I want to hear his laugh. I want to see his smile. I want him. Not just his body, not just this,him.
I want all the things I'm not supposed to want. I want the things he said he we can’t have.
"Don't think," he murmurs into my hair like he can read my mind.
"Too late," I admit quietly, honestly.
His arms tighten around me protectively. "I know, peaches. I know."
He says it like he feels like I do. And that's when it hits me, not gradually, not gently, but like a brick wall.
I'm falling for him.
Not just wanting him.
Not just loving this.
Falling. The kind of falling that doesn't have a safety net.
Does he feel the same? Is he in as deep as I've just realized I am?
I don't ask.
I don't want to know.
We lay there in the morning light, wrapped around each other, the truth of our circumstance hanging between us. I don't know if there's any going back. No unseeing, no undoing.
