Page 86 of Wicked Ruin

What always surprises me about Bridget, this woman who can fill an entire room with her energy and smile and laugh, is that she gets private and quiet when we make love. Her body pulls inward for a moment, she grips me tightly, and then her head falls back.

“I want to hear you. Be a good girl and let me hear you, baby. Just like that. I like to know you're happy, that you like it, that you're mine.”

She does. Her head lolls to the side, but her hands grip my arms, and she groans. “Yes…” She starts low. “Yes,” she says in a louder voice, until she's practically screaming, “Yes!”

“That's it,” I whisper. “Just like that, baby. I've got you.”

My own need to climax builds until I bend my forehead to hers, our breaths intertwining, and she whispers in my ear. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

And I do. Oh my fucking god, it's utter perfection.

Afterward, I don't move away right away but stay where I am, bracing myself on my forearm so I don't hurt her, her head tucked under my chin. She traces my bicep absentmindedly.

I stay where I am longer than I should, then roll over and reach for the blanket at the foot of the bed. A thick, ridiculous thing in rainbow colors that makes me smile because this is so her, just like the room. With a flick of my arm, I unfurl it over her and tuck it in around her. She yawns adorably.

At first, I think she's asleep with her eyes closed. Neither of us speaks. The rain outside the window has softened, falling in a steady rhythm against the glass. I listen to her slow breathing.

“You're not sleeping,” she whispers.

“No.”

“What are you looking at? What are you doing then?”

“Looking at you.”

“That's a very intense look,” she says, peeking with one eye. “When you're just looking at someone, it's a lot.”

“I'm an intense person,” I say.

She smiles, and her eyes fall closed again, as if it's too much effort to keep them open. “I've noticed.”

I brush her hair back from her forehead and tuck it behind her ear. She leans into my hand, just barely, as if she wants to purr and savor the feel of it. “How do you feel right now?” I ask.

“You can't ask me that every five minutes,” she says.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit over the top. I feel wonderful right now,” she says with a smile, her eyes still closed. “I may need some water and potentially some food. I get nauseous and hungry, and the baby has opinions.”

The baby. She said the baby. It makes it feel so much more real.

“The baby.”

“The baby,” she repeats. “We covered that. It's your fault, for the record.”

“My fault,” I say, chuckling, her eyes still closed as she shoves at my chest.

“Right. I was minding my own business.”

I laugh out loud. “Like hell you were. You came to that party dressed to kill.”

“Oh, I’m always dressed to kill,” she says with a yawn, which is very untrue. Bridget adores her lounge clothes.

“And I'm teasing you anyway. I was every bit as complicit in that whole thing as you were. In fact, I damn well seduced you.”

“Did you? I can’t remember. We may need a do-over.” I lay my head beside hers on the pillow. It's warm next to her, and she smells so damn good. “I'd do it again,” I whisper, and there's something beneath the teasing tone because I mean it.

“So would I.”