Page 121 of Playing Mr. Perfect

As he does so often, he stays with me until I sink into the mattress, and then he kisses his way up my body. Every touch of his lips causes a sharp gasp of pleasure. “Need you,” I whimper, reaching for him as he aligns our bodies. His weight is deliciously familiar, and the feel of his hard length nestled against my center has me opening my legs wider. Those loving blue eyes reach deep into my soul, and I love you whispers through my mind. It doesn’t shock me. I’ve felt it building for weeks, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare me.

“My beautiful, brilliant girl,” he whispers, his dimples coming out to play. “How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?”

“You charmed your way in and left me no choice.”

“I’d do it all over again.”

His mouth comes coaxingly down over mine and he thrusts, burying himself to the hilt. Pleasure consumes me, and “Ohgod,” comes out in one long breath, as he grits out, “Jesus. How does it get better every time?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, reclaiming my mouth in a merciless kiss, which is a good thing, because I couldn’t form a word if my life depended on it.

We thrust and grind, grasping and clawing, our moans and murmurs filling the air. He lifts my legs at the knees, driving into me deeper, rougher. “Yes. Don’t stop,” I beg, and he makes a low, guttural noise as he pounds into me. I feel every blessed inch of him stroking that secret spot as our mouths reconnect in messy, urgent kisses. My body trembles with desire so hot it burns. I claw at his back, and he fists his hands in my hair, sending streaks of pain and pleasure whipping through me, unleashing a torrent of pure, explosive ecstasy. “Clay—”

He’s right there with me, gritting out my name as our bodies shudder and pulse, binding us with something as true and vast as the dizzying world around us. And then I’m floating on a cloud of happiness, coming down from the high.

He kisses me tenderly and brushes his lips over mine. “Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful.”

“Mm. To you, too.”

“Are you still nervous about going home?” We’re driving to Oak Falls after breakfast and meeting my family at the festival.

“I’m sure I will be later, but it’s hard to be nervous about anything when I’m so blissed out.”

He smiles, and we lie nose to nose, tangled together like mating snakes, whispering and kissing, his warm hand moving soothingly up and down my back. “If you’re up to it, we can cuddle under blankets on a lounge chair on the deck and watch the sunrise.”

We’ve been spending so many nights at his place, it’s starting to feel as much like home as my house, which it shouldn’t, since it’s not even Clay’s property. But it is for now. I’ve got clothes in the closet and in the drawers, and he even bought a latte machine. I like coming here after work, seeing his hoodies and shoes lying around and spending time in the hot tub and on the deck. He got me to work out with him a couple of times in the home gym, but we prefer horizontal workouts.

“I’d like that,” I say. “But I need a minute to wash up.”

“Let me brush my teeth, and then you can do your thing.” He kisses me again, then heads into the bathroom.

I’m still lying in bed when he comes out. He pulls on boxer briefs and strides over to the bed, looking gorgeously lickable.

“What’s that grin for, temptress?”

“I like looking at you.”

“I like devouring you.” He leans down to kiss me and then heads over to the dresser and puts on sweats and a hoodie. “Take your time. We’ve got about twenty minutes before the sun rises. I’ll get the blankets and make you a latte. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I lie sated and happy, thinking about how much has changed. It’s been weeks since I felt the pressure to check email and catch up on work in my off hours. That’s a little scary, but my work hasn’t paid the price. If anything, I’ve been more productive lately. We finished the design for the sensory glove, and we pick it up this week from Kenji for a trial run. I had no idea that being happy could make me more focused in the time I have at work, clearing my plate to spend time with Clay in the evenings and weekends.

That man is good for me in more ways than I can count.

I get up and head into the bathroom. My heart skips at the sight of an envelope on the counter with my name scrawled across it in his blocky handwriting. I open it and withdraw a card with red hearts scattered around the message:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I have a list

of naughty things

I want to do with you

I open the card, and there are several pictures of teddy bears in dirty positions. The male has hearts for eyes, and the female has long lashes and red lips. There’s a picture with the female on all fours and the male taking her from behind, another of her riding him, and one of her on her knees in front of him. There’s a picture of her lying on her back with his head between her legs and another of her hanging from a chandelier with him lying prone beneath her. Beneath the pictures Clay has written, Happy Valentine’s Day, Reckless. There’s no one else I’d rather call mine than you. He drew a lopsided heart and signed his name.

I read it again, bubbling over with happiness, and look in the mirror. I’m smiling at nothing. I’m always smiling these days. Clay’s voice whispers through my mind. Nothing is as impressive as that unstoppable smile of yours. I remember how much his words affected me in Paris, but that’s nothing compared to how they affect me now. I study myself for a moment.

My hair is a tangled mess, and I look a little tired, but there’s no mistaking the joy in my eyes staring back at me. I thought I looked different when I returned from Paris, like I’d left a piece of myself there. Now I see another change, and I know what was missing. Before going to Paris, I thought I was happy. But now I know I was happy enough—enough to survive and be content. I hadn’t just left a piece of myself in Paris when I left Clay. In the short time we had together, I’d found true happiness, and I’d left that behind, too.