Page 125 of Cherry Picking

He works two fingers into me, thumb circling my clit, and my knees stop participating. Then he catches me under the thigh and hitches my leg up around his hip, my back dragging against the wall.

“I need you inside me,” I tell him, “immediately, right now.”

“Give me a second.”

“I’ve given you several.”

“Evie.” He drops his forehead to my shoulder. “I’m serious. Give me a second.”

He gets his belt undone one-handed, fumbling while he works his way there. Once he’s lined himself up properly, he pushes just the tip of himself inside me. And then he stops right there.

His whole body goes rigid against mine, one hand flat on the wall by my head, the other clamped on my thigh hard enough that I know I’ll find marks tomorrow.

“Don’t move,” he says, wrecked. “Don’t—okay, just don’t move.”

“Briggs, are you—”

“I’m about to embarrass myself.” His face is pressed into my neck, jaw tight as he drags air in through his nose. “Just—give me a second. God. Please.”

I have never in my life been more turned on than I am watching this enormous man come apart from one inch of contact. “Look at me.”

He lifts his head. His eyes are dark, and his mouth is open, his face pinched like he’s in actual pain.

“God, you’re so pretty when you’re suffering.”

“I’m going to remember that.” He breathes out shakily, working to get some control back. “I’m going to remember you said that.”

“Are you finished?”

“Give me—” He shuts his eyes. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

When he pushes the rest of the way in, I forget every single thing I’ve ever known.

He gets an arm under my thigh to hold me open, driving into me against the wall while I claw at his shoulders. He keeps talking the whole time in that low, ruined voice—there she is, that’s it, let me hear you—and when I come, I do it hard enough that my vision goes white at the edges.

His own release arrives barely four seconds later, a wrecked sound escaping him as he buries his face in my hair, murmuring my name over and over. Neither of us moves for a long while. When the world finally surfaces, I realize my leg is still anchored over his hip, but I have no plans to relocate it.

“So,” I murmur.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I haven’t said a word yet.”

“But you’re going to.” He’s still panting, chest heaving against mine. “I can practically hear you rehearsing the punchline.”

“Fine, I was merely going to observe that you were remarkably quick.”

“There it is.”

“It wasn’t a complaint. Consider it a compliment.”

“That is definitely not a compliment, pretty girl.”

He chuckles against my neck, a low vibration that makes me shiver, and then he’s hoisting me clean off the floor. I’m still sporting one of my boots when he carries me through to the bedroom, my arms locked tight around his neck.

We collapse into his bed, lamplight cutting through the dark because he refuses to let me kill the lights.

I kick the boot free while he handles the rest of our layers. Then he settles back against the pillows and hauls me on top of him, fisting his hands in my hair. For a long, quiet minute, we don’t do anything but memorize each other’s faces.