Chapter Eight
Elsa
Morning comes in pale and quiet, filtered through heavy curtains that don’t quite manage to keep the light out. It pools on the sheets, on the edge of the bed.
I blink once. Twice.
And then my body catches up.
Oh.
My.
God.
Every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out and put back together in the best possible way. There’s a deep, delicious ache between my thighs that makes my face heat the second I shift. My hips protest. My legs protest. I’m pretty sure my dignity would protest too, if I had any left.
Antonio’s arm is thrown over my waist, heavy and warm. His palm is big and warm on my breast as he sleeps. I try to move—just a small adjustment, a test—and the soreness bites in sharply enough that I hiss through myteeth.
Antonio makes a sound, low and pleased, without opening his eyes.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
I stare at the ceiling like it’s going to save me. “Don’t.”
His fingers flex, tightening over my nipple and sending a fresh jolt of lightning through me. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t sound smug.”
A lazy smile curves into his cheek, visible even from where I’m lying. He opens one eye, then the other, and his gaze drifts down my face like he’s still hungry.
“I promised,” he says, completely unapologetic, “you wouldn’t walk properly.”
“Bastard,” I whisper without any heat at all. “I think I sprained my vagina.”
He laughs then, a low, warm rumble that I can feel in my bones. “I’ll kiss it and make it better.” He leans in and nuzzles the spot behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
My traitorous body betrays me, arching into him like a cat getting petted. His morning erection presses against my ass, and I’m not sure my body can handle it. It wants to, though. Oh, how it wants to.
“I can walk,” I say, because I’m not going to give him that victory for free.
He hums, unconvinced, and starts kneading my breast gently, teasing the peak with the pad of his thumb.
I’m already wet for him. I’m not sure it ever fully stopped.
“Demonstrate,” he says, dragging his lips along the back of my neck.
I turn my head and glare at him, but it’s ruined by the fact that I’m smiling. I can feel it. The corners of my mouth are traitors.
“You’re insufferable,” I tell him.
He shifts, pressing a lazy kiss to my shoulder, before turning me until we’re facing each other.
He doesn’t remove his hand from my breast.
His hair is a mess, his jaw shadowed, his eyes dark and warm in the morning light. He looks unfairly good for a man who should be just as sore as I am.
“I’m charming,” he corrects.
