“You’re serious?” I ask.
“You make me happy.”
“I literally made you get out of bed and apply to jobs at three in the morning,” I point out.
“Smoke pollution… I saidhappy.”
I want to look away, but I can’t. Ash is looking at me like there’s room for me in his life, and I hate how badly I want to believe him. I might want the apartment. I might want the mornings. I might want him.
I don’t know if saying yes means I believe in us or don’t believe in myself. Either way, I nod.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay, you’ll think about it or…?”
“Okay, I’ll… move in.” What am I saying? “If you’re sure?—”
Ash’s mouth is on mine before I can finish. I melt into the kiss, his hand sliding up my back, pulling me half into his lap. Okay, yes. This part I know: parting his lips with my tongue, brushing my cheek against his stubble, wrapping his strong arms tighter around me.
Fine. This is fine. This is great.
“I’ll tell Alistair tomorrow. At the party,” I murmur against his lips. “I mean. I want to be here. With you.”
His answer is another patient kiss making my skin burn. He draws me in until we’re chest to chest, my leg hooked over his hip. He’s already half hard under me, his breath catching when I roll my hips to make sure he feels every inch of me too.
Ash lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a groan, like I’ve just lifted something heavy off his chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Thank you?I tilt my head and nip his bottom lip. “Not sure ‘thank you’ is my sexiest line.”
“Oh, I think it’s pretty sexy.” His hands slide under my thighs, and before I can answer, he flips us.
My back hits the mattress. His body settles over mine, heavy and warm and suddenly a lot less patient than he was a second ago.
“But you can always try again,” he says.
The shift knocks the breath out of me. Ash, who usually thinks his way through every touch like he’s trying to solve me, catches my wrists and presses them into the pillow above my head. His mouth finds the place under my jaw that wrecks me, and he sucks there just hard enough to make my hips jerk.
Oh.
He knows that place now.
My laugh comes out thin and startled. “Look at you.”
He lifts his head, eyes darker than I expect. “You like when I stop asking so many questions.”
The words go straight through me.
“I like when you asksomequestions,” I manage.
His mouth curves. “Here’s one.” He rolls his hips, pinning me harder to the bed. “Do you want me?”
I should make a joke. Instead, my body answers first, arching up against him like it has no loyalty to my survival instincts whatsoever. “Yes.”
His grip tightens around my wrists, and he drags his mouth down my throat, over my chest, and bites gently at my hip, exactly where he’s learned I’ll fall apart fastest. “Try again.”
Heat punches through me so hard I almost miss the laugh tangled in my own breath. This is Ash. My spreadsheet man. Myprotein-shaker-at-seven-fifteen man. And somehow he’s here in the dark, using everything he knows about me like he’s been taking notes.
