Her leg trembles against my shoulder as I press my mouth to her inner thigh. The skin there is so soft, and when I trace my tongue higher, she grabs for the back of the couch to steadyherself. I spread her with my thumbs and taste her until her hips buck forward and a strangled noise tears from her throat.
I flatten my tongue against her clit, working her in steady strokes while she groans and gasps and pants out commands on exactly how she wants me to worship her. I fucking love listening to her boss me around, and I’m more than dedicated to learning exactly what drives her mad. It’s only fair given what she does to me just by existing in the world.
I could stay like this all night, but when I slide two fingers inside her and curl them forward, she jerks hard enough that I brace her hip with my free hand.
“Don’t stop. Right there?—”
I increase the pressure, my tongue circling her swollen clit as my fingers work her at a tortuous pace. After another minute, she shatters with a cry that echoes off the walls of the apartment. Her thighs clamp around my head as the orgasm rolls through her, and I hold her steady until her grip on my hair loosens and her breathing slows to something less ragged.
I press one last kiss to the curve of her hip, then rise to my feet. Her eyes are glazed, her bottom lip swollen from biting down on it, and the flush on her chest extends all the way to her collarbones. I cup her face with both hands, wanting to claim her mouth so badly my body aches with need.
She reaches for the waistband of my jeans with hands that aren’t quite steady. “I need you.”
Three words that crack my ribs open without her even realizing what she does to me.
I strip out of my jeans and boxers while she turns, bracing her forearms on the arm of the couch, and the sight of her bent over and waiting makes my brain short-circuit. I grip her hips and line myself up, pushing inside slowly. She’s slick and tight, and her body pulls me in like a fucking siren song. I have to pause, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, just to keep from losing it in the first five seconds.
“Move,” she demands.
I pump into her hard, because that’s what we both need right now. She meets every thrust with an urgency that borders on desperation. The couch creaks against the floor as we find a punishing rhythm, and I reach around to press my fingers against her clit. I want her to come again, to feel her clench around me when she does.
“God, Jeremy, yes?—”
I circle her clit while driving into her, and her back arches, her body tightening around me as my vision whites out. She comes first, her whole body seizing, and I follow two thrusts later with a groan I bury against the nape of her neck.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, my chest pressed to her back and arms wrapped around her so tight I can feel her heart pounding against my skin. I don’t want to let go. Not now. Possibly not ever. Letting go means going back to the version of this where we’re casual and temporary. I go back to pretending that finding her on the beach that night didn’t turn my whole world upside down then rearrange it into a configuration that…
She straightens and turns in my arms, and for a second we just look at each other. She’s the most devastatingly beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You know I wasn’t serious about the twenty-five grand.”
“I was.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll go to Steamboat with you, but not because of the money.”
“Okay.”
“Stop smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are absolutely smiling.”
I pull her closer, tucking her head under my chin. She fits there perfectly, and I’m not ready to stop touching her.Her palm is flat against my bare chest, and the rightness of her touch marks me like a brand.
I am, in fact, smiling. Because right now, I don’t have to calculate the cost of partnerships or business deals. In this moment, Avah chose me over a check. I don’t know exactly what to do with that except hold on tighter.
23
AVAH
Gravel crunchesunder our tires as we pull into the NorthStar caregiver camp just after noon on Friday. Small cabins with green tin roofs nestle between thick clumps of lodgepole pines and aspens, their green leaves quivering even when there’s no discernible breeze. Jeremy parks his Range Rover in a spot next to a minivan with a stick-figure family decal across the back window.
He stares at that decal like it just flipped him the bird. I watch with growing amusement as his gaze drifts from the postage-stamp sized cabins to the main lodge, which is a sprawling if slightly shabby A-frame structure with a wraparound porch and window boxes full of geraniums that have seen better days.
“This is...” His tone holds an edge of disbelief. “Rustic.”
“Adorable,” I counter.
