Joe groaned, his hips moving in a deep, steady rhythm, one arm braced beside her head, the other gripping her waist.
Each thrust made her moan louder, her body rolling to meet him, begging for more without words.
He was completely losing it.
“Wait,” she gasped. “Let me…”
She sat up, her hands searching his chest.
And then she flipped him.
Joe let out a stunned laugh, landing flat on his back, but she was already climbing on top of him again, sinking down with a shuddering sigh.
“Oh my God,” he whispered.
Her hands roamed his chest, blind and hungry. She rode him slow and deep, dragging out every sensation like she was savoring it.
When he felt her begin to shake again, he reached between them, circling her clit with his thumb, his other hand cradling her jaw.
“Come with me,” he said. “Let go.”
She did.
They did.
Together.
The climax stole his breath. Hers tore from her throat in acry, body tight around his, muscles locking as she fell apart again.
He followed with a groan, spilling into her, his hands gripping her like he never wanted to let go.
They collapsed together, tangled and quiet and shaking.
Joe kissed her temple. Loosened the blindfold. Brushed her hair back.
Krista blinked up at him, eyes soft and full of stars.
He pulled her close and whispered, “That’s going in the permanent collection.”
She laughed softly, lips brushing his jaw. “Forever.”
THIRTY-FIVE
KRISTA
Wednesday
Krista leaned against the bathroom doorway, toothbrush in hand, listening to the conversation between Kit and Joe in the kitchen.
Every time she thought about last night, her cheeks warmed and her stomach flipped. And not just because the sex had been earth-shattering—though, yes, that too—but because of the way Joe had looked at her through the camera, the way he’d held her after, the quiet weight of the trust that had settled between.
Laughter floated down the hall—Joe’s low and warm, Kit’s higher-pitched and animated, already halfway into a story.
Krista padded barefoot down the hall, ponytail messy, nightshirt hanging down to mid-thigh.
“So then,” Kit was saying, “she leans in and tells me—she kept my hoodie all these months because it still smelled like my shampoo.”
Joe’s laugh was a deep, delicious rumble. “Let me guess. You immediately forgave her.”
