“I want to come with you,” he whispers.
The orgasm crashes through me in deep, helpless waves, my body tightening around him as I press my face into the mattress and hold on to his hand. He follows seconds later with a rough sound against my shoulder, his hips losing their rhythm as he buries himself deep and comes with me.
We collapse together, his weight pressing me into the mattress, our breathing harsh and ragged in the quiet room. His lips find my shoulder, pressing a kiss there. Tender, almost reverent.
I'm still trembling. Still clenching around him. Still trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts.
His thumb moves over the back of my neck, slow and unsteady, and then he presses another kiss there.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers.
What can I say to that?
I let him stay there for a while.
Not because I am too exhausted to move.
Although that is also true.
Mostly because his weight over me feels strange in a way I do not immediately want to fix. Heavy, yes. Warm. Solid. His breathing is uneven against my shoulder, his body still tucked close to mine, and for once the silence in my flat is not something I have chosen to protect myself.
It is just silence.
Shared.
Which is much more dangerous.
Eventually, AJ shifts with a careful sound.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, easing his weight off me. “I may have temporarily lost access to several major muscle groups.”
I turn my face into the pillow. “Tragic.”
“Deeply.”
The mattress moves as he rolls onto his back beside me. For a moment, neither of us says anything. The room smells of sex and warm skin and the faint clean cotton scent of my sheets. Morning light presses softly at the edge of the curtains, too bright for the fact that we have been awake all night and apparently decided breakfast was not enough poor judgement for one day.
I should say something.
Something casual. Something dry. Something that proves I am still myself and not a woman lying naked in bed beside the journalist who arrived two weeks ago with an apology, a notebook and deeply unfortunate green eyes.
Nothing arrives.
AJ turns his head on the pillow.
I feel him looking at me before I see it.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re very quiet.”
“I’m recovering.”
“From me?”
“Don’t look pleased.”
“I am trying to look humble.”
