"Now?"
"Now."
He kisses his way down my body, slow and deliberate. Nothing like last night's urgency. This is something else entirely — tender, almost reverent. He kisses the marks on my hips. The inside of my thighs. The crease where my leg meets my body.
And then he settles between my legs and looks up at me.
"Watch me."
I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he lowers his mouth to my pussy. The first lick is soft, exploratory, and I sigh at the sensation. He's gentle — so gentle it almost drives me crazy — his tongue tracing slow patterns through my folds.
"Ghost..."
"Shh. I've got you."
He takes his time. Learns me all over again, like last night was just a rough draft and this is the real thing. He licks and sucks and teases until I'm trembling, my hands fisting in the sheets, my hips rolling against his face.
"Please," I breathe. "I need more."
He slides two fingers inside me and I moan, my head falling back. He curls them, finding that spot, and strokes it slowly while his tongue works my clit.
It builds differently this time. Not the explosive urgency of last night, but something deeper. A slow wave gathering strength, pulling me under inch by inch.
"That's it." His voice vibrates against me. "Let it take you."
I come with a long, low moan, my whole body shuddering, my pussy clenching around his fingers. He works me through it, gentle and relentless, drawing out every last tremor.
When I finally go still, he kisses his way back up my body and settles over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
"Good morning," he says.
I laugh breathlessly. "Good morning yourself."
He's hard against my thigh — I can feel him straining against his jeans — but he doesn't move to do anything about it. Just looks down at me with those dark eyes, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing. Just looking."
"At what?"
"You." He pauses. "I like seeing you in my bed."
Something warm blooms in my chest. This man — this grumpy, closed-off, monosyllabic man — keeps saying things that undo me completely.
I reach for his belt. "I like being in your bed. But I'd like it more if you were in me."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
He sheds his jeans and settles between my thighs, and when he pushes inside me it's slow and deep. We both groan at the sensation — me because I'm still sensitive from last night, him because... I don't know why. Because it feels as good for him as it does for me, I hope.
He moves slowly. Long, deep strokes that make me feel every inch of him. His eyes stay locked on mine, and there's something vulnerable in his gaze that wasn't there last night.
Last night was fucking. This is something else.
"You feel so good," he murmurs. "You have no idea."
"Show me."
