“Yours, Dean. Yours.”
“Damn.” He drops his forehead to mine. “You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can.” I wrap my legs around him. Pull him deeper. “My grumpy, emotionally constipated, perfect—”
He kisses me quiet. Moves harder. Faster. Until words become impossible and there’s just sensation. Connection. The two of us figuring out how we fit.
Spoiler: We fit perfectly.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Pizza in Bed
Dean
She’s draped across my chest like a blanket. A very satisfied, slightly sweaty blanket that keeps drawing patterns on my skin.
“So,” she says.
“So.”
“That happened.”
I trace lazy circles on her back, still catching my breath. “Three times.”
She laughs. I feel it everywhere. “Show-off.”
“You started it.”
She smiles. “Did not.”
“Did too.” I catch her hand. Kiss her palm. “Had to prove I wasn’t all talk.”
“Mm. Good follow-through.”
“Thanks. I aim to please.”
“Such a giver.”
We’re quiet for a minute. It’s a quiet that should probably feel awkward but doesn’t. Outside, I can hear the ocean. Boats in the harbor. Real life happening while we hide in this bubble.
“I’m hungry,” she announces.
“Worked up an appetite?”
“Mm.” She stretches like a cat. “Think we can find any good Italian takeout?”
“In Italy?” I deadpan. “Might be tough.”
She laughs into my chest. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“There’s probably menus somewhere.” I trace lazy circles on her hip. Can’t stop touching her. “Or we could be really American about it and order pizza.”
“God yes. Extra cheese. Maybe some of that fancy prosciutto.”
“Classy.”
She props herself up on an elbow, sheet slipping down to reveal one perfect shoulder. The moonlight through the window catches the sheen of sweat on her collarbone. My mouth goes dry.
