My words dissolve into a garbled cry when my orgasm hits. My body convulses, inner walls clamping down on his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over and through me. Still, he doesn’t let up, licking and sucking me through it until I’m a quivering, oversensitive mess.
“Too much,” I gasp, weakly pushing at his shoulders.
Pressing one last gentle kiss to my swollen clit, he crawls up my body. Face slick with my arousal, his eyes are dark with hunger as he hovers above me.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you come,” he whispers, brushing my hair away from my now sweaty face.
Boneless and spent, I close my eyes and fall back against the mattress.
Finally, I catch my breath and open my eyes to find him watching me with a mixture of awe and hunger that makes my insides clench all over again.
When I reach for the button on his jeans, he catches my wrist, bringing my fingers to his lips. “Not now.”
“Why not?” I frown, confusion cutting through my post-orgasmic haze.
“Because this wasn’t about me.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “It’s about you. About us taking things slow, remember?”
“Um, yeah. Not sure if I’d call what we just did taking it slow,” I laugh.
He grins, looking sheepish and proud. “Maybe not. But I meant what I said—no pressure. We have all weekend.”
The sincerity in his eyes makes my heart soar. This isn’t just about sex for him. It never has been.
“Will you... stay? Here. With me?” I ask, surprised by the vulnerability bleeding into my voice.
His eyes soften. “Are you sure?”
“Just for a little while,” I quickly clarify. “I just... don’t want to be alone right now.”
Without another word, Rowan kicks off his shoes and stretches out beside me, pulling me against his chest. I nestle into him, my back to his front, his arm a comforting weight around my waist.
“I’ve dreamed about holding you like this,” he murmurs into my hair.
I squeeze the hand splayed across my stomach. “Me too.”
As his breathing evens out, I watch the twinkling lights of the city spread out below us, suddenly realizing, for the first time in a long time, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
forty-two
I wakeup with my face buried in Lizzy’s jasmine-scented hair and my dick still half hard.
For a moment, I’m disoriented, not sure if I’m dreaming or if she’s really here in my arms. But the warm weight of her body pressed against mine is too real to be a dream.
Carefully, I prop myself up on one elbow to look down at her.
Morning light filters through the windows, casting a golden glow across the bed and her bronze skin. Dark lashes fan across her cheeks, her full lips slightly parted as she breathes.
The fact that she’s here in my bed is something I’ve dreamed about so many times over the years, but the reality? Infinitely better.
Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, my fingertips linger against her cheek. Last night was... intense. Not just physically, but emotionally. Reading my letters seemed to break down whatever residual walls she’d built against me.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. A little after seven a.m. Still early, but I’ve never been able to sleep in, not even onmy days off. Years of early call times have rewired my internal clock.
Careful not to wake her, I slide my arm out from underneath her head and slip out of bed. Stirring slightly, Lizzy mumbles something unintelligible before burying her face deeper into the pillow, and it makes me grin.
After changing into a pair of sweatpants, I shuffle downstairs into the kitchen to start the coffee machine and gather ingredients for breakfast.
The least I can do is make her something decent to eat after last night’s emotional rollercoaster. I decide on my specialty: blueberry pancakes with a side of crispy bacon.
