The rest of their clothes disappeared with urgency, and then there was nothing between them but skin and desire and the desperate need to be closer.
He took his time exploring her body with reverent touches, his mouth following the path of his hands until she was trembling with need. His lips traced a path down her throat to her collarbone, then lower, lavishing attention on her breasts until she was gasping his name. When his hand slipped betweenher legs, finding her slick and ready, she cried out at the intimate contact.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the word.
He positioned her above him, his hands gripping her hips as she braced herself on his shoulders. They both went still for a moment, the magnitude of what they were about to do settling between them.
“Are you sure?” he asked one more time, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
Instead of answering with words, she kissed him as she slowly lowered herself onto him, taking him inch by deliberate inch. The sensation was overwhelming—he filled her completely, stretching her in the most perfect way, as if they’d been made for each other.
“God,” he groaned against her mouth, his control fraying as she began to move. “You feel incredible.”
She set a slow rhythm at first, savoring the way he felt inside her, the way his hands guided her movements. But as the tension built between them, their pace became more urgent, more desperate.
He pulled her close, changing the angle so that every movement sent sparks through her core. When she was close to the edge, he would slow their rhythm, keeping her balanced on the precipice until she was trembling and pleading.
“Not yet,” he murmured against her ear, his voice dark with control and promise. “I want to feel you fall apart in my arms.”
The combination of his words and the exquisite torture of being held at the brink made her wild with need. When he finally allowed her to chase her release, the climax crashed over her with devastating intensity, her body clenching around him as she cried out his name.
The sight and feel of her coming undone triggered his own. He buried his face in her neck as he emptied himself inside her, his body shuddering with the force of it.
Afterward, they stayed tangled together on the couch, her head on his shoulder, both of them breathing hard.
“Well,” she said eventually, her voice hoarse. “That was worth the sick day.”
“Best recovery plan I’ve ever had,” he agreed, his voice rough with satisfaction.
She lifted her head to look at him, her expression growing serious. “You really did scare me yesterday.”
His expression shifted. “I’m not used to having someone worry about me.”
“Get used to it,” she said, then blushed as she realized how that sounded. “I mean, if you want…if this isn’t just…”
He silenced her with a kiss, soft and sure. “This isn’t just anything,” he said when they broke apart. “This is everything.”
The words hung between them, heavy with implication and promise. Neither of them was ready to examine what “everything” meant, but for now, it was enough.
As the sun set over Manhattan, casting golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows, they made love again—slower this time, with the luxury of exploration and the knowledge that they had all night. He worshipped her body with his hands and mouth until she was boneless with pleasure, then loved her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
And when she finally fell asleep in his bed, her head on his chest and her hand over his heart, the steady rhythm beneath her palm carried her into dreams where the line between pretense and reality had disappeared completely.
Chapter 17
He woke before his alarm,which rarely happened anymore. Silk sheets and the quiet hum of the city below greeted him as consciousness returned. For a moment, he lay still, surprised by the contentment that had settled deep within him. Then he became aware of the warm weight pressed against his side.
Devney was curled next to him, one hand splayed across his chest, her hair cascading across his pillow. She was wearing his Harvard T-shirt again, and nothing else, and the sight of her bare legs tangled with his sent heat straight to his core.
Memories of the night before crashed over him, her hands on his skin, the taste of her mouth, the way she’d whispered his name in the darkness. They’d made love twice more after that first desperate coupling on the couch, each time slower and more thorough than the last.
She stirred against him, her palm pressing more firmly against his ribs, and he felt her body come awake.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Mmm.” She lifted her head to look at him, and he was struck by how natural she looked in his bed, how right this felt. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in months,” he admitted, then caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. “And you?”
