The second thing I noticed was his mouth pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the curve of my shoulder.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I asked, my voice still thick with dreams.
He didn’t answer right away. He pressed another kiss to my collarbone, then lower, his lips moving across the swell of my breast with a patience that made my whole body feel like it was melting into the mattress.
“I’m making the most of the last few hours we have together,” he growled.
My heart clenched so hard it nearly stole my breath.
But then his mouth moved lower still, and the ache in my chest got tangled up with the heat spreading through the rest of me.
We hadn’t talked about it yet. What it meant.
And I knew that in the next few hours I’d find out if I was something more than a passing love affair for the man.
I wanted more. Ached for it.
But I understood that I might not mean that to him. So I needed to take advantage of every last second I still had with him by my side.
I stopped being able to hold on to the sadness rippling through me, because Bronson was kissing his way down my stomach now, slow and purposeful, his large hands sliding my thighs apart with a gentleness that didn’t match his size at all.
I’d been with so few men.
The only two I knew were Jimmy and Bronson, and they were opposites of each other.
Jimmy had come into my life when I was barely more than a girl, and I’d spent so many years believing that what we had was normal… that intimacy was supposed to feel transactional and rushed. A little lonely.
Bronson had dismantled that belief completely within less than three days.
And when he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of my thigh, I was already trembling for him.
He parted my slit with his tongue, lapping into my moist, wet folds.
I gasped, my hands flying down to grip his hair as he kissed me with the same focused attention he gave to everything.
Then he licked up through my center in one slow, deliberate stroke that made my hips roll up off the bed.
“Bronson,” I breathed, his name coming out like a plea.
He rumbled out a low laugh that landed in my pussy, then set up a rhythm that made me squirm against his lips.
He pinned my legs down and held me in place, as the tip of his tongue circled my clit in slow, maddening loops that wound me tight.
A broken sound spilled out of me as he slid two fingers in and curled them forward while his mouth kept working.
I cried out, bucking my hips against him.
And before long, I came apart so completely that I forgot my own name.
Hunger rolled through me in long, crashing waves, my thighs shaking against his shoulders, my fingers twisting in his hair, his name on my lips.
When I came back to myself he was already moving, crawling back up the length of me and pulling me into his arms until I was tucked against his chest.
I lay there in the dark and let the quiet settle over me.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt free of my past.
Jimmy was in a holding cell. The divorce would finalize quickly now.
