Текст книги "Once Kissed"

Автор книги: Cecy Robson

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 18

Tess

Curran flips on his right turn signal as I finish texting Declan with regard to the case file I was working on. As he makes the turn, I remind Declan to sign the documents I’d emailed earlier.

“Everything okay?” Curran asks.

“Yes. Just wrapping a few things up.” I try to keep my tone light, not wanting to give away exactly how much work I had to do in order to go out with him tonight. And I still have a few chapters to read in Administrative Law before I go to bed later.

I put my phone away and pull down the visor, fiddling with my hair in the mirror.

“Babe, you look great. Don’t sweat it.”

It’s the tenth time he’s said it, and like the first nine, I don’t believe him. “I just wish I would have dressed better.”

Curran laughs, stopping at the next light. “It’s a dive bar on a Thursday in sub-zero weather. If anything, you’re overdressed.”

I tug on my shirt, a green silk button-down. My pants are tweed, and my shoes more practical than cute. “It’s all I have,” I offer, apologetically.

“And it’s more than good enough. You look hot.” He hooks an arm over my neck and pulls me in for a kiss, but then the light turns and he has to stomp on the gas.

I pull down the visor again. My hair is so messy. Why is it so messy? Because of the crazy sex you had following your shower with Curran, I remind myself.

Okay. But considering how busy and stressed I’ve been, we both were due for some crazy sex.

I pull on the strands, trying to settle them and wishing I’d remembered to pack a blow dryer in my overnight bag.

“Why are you nervous?”

I shut the visor, conceding that my hair is a lost cause. “I’m meeting your family.”

“Yeah, for beer and wings.” His eyes glance up, checking to make sure the rookie cop watching us is still behind us. “It’s not exactly Thanksgiving.”

No, it’s not, and in a way it makes me sad. Although Curran and I commit every free moment to each other, I can’t be positive we’re actually committed. No, that’s not exactly true. I’m very committed to him, but I can’t be certain the feeling is mutual.

I sigh. Committed. That’s a funny word considering I already know I love him.

He pulls into a large lot lined with deep cracks and littered with chunks of asphalt. Most of the vehicles are trucks exactly like his with the exception of the I BRAKE FOR PUSSY and HONK IF YOU’RE HORNY bumper stickers decorating the others.

The rookie parks in the row behind us, positioning his sedan so he can see us and the front door. I don’t move, waiting for Curran to come around and help me navigate over a particularly large pothole. “Wow. The winter’s been brutal on this lot,” I say when he reaches for me.

“Oh, no, Merve’s always looks like this,” he says. “The owner is a cheap bastard, but this place has the best wings in West Philly.”

The closer we get to the front door, the more I wonder if these famous wings are worth a serious case of hepatitis. Curran wasn’t joking when he said the bar wasn’t the most modern or well-cared-for building. Old green paint peels away from the wood storefront, and the surrounding window frame is grimy with dirt and sections of rust.

He motions to the peeling paint before reaching for the door handle. “Hey, that’s the same color as your shirt. How ’bout that—you match Merve’s.”

His hold on my hand tightens when I try to bolt. “Come on, babe. There’s my brother.”

I can’t see more than his back. Merve’s loud atmosphere is lined with wall-to-wall flannel-clad bodies. Yet as I peek over Curran’s shoulder, I realize there’s no missing his brother. A titan of a man carrying two pitchers jerks his head toward the rear. Curran weaves us to the right and left, around what seems to be the open casting call for the next Deliverance movie.

His brother reaches the large booth first, where a beautiful young woman is sitting, her long, springy curls cascading down her light blue sweater and willowy frame. Curran greets his brother, the two of them clasping hands in a friendly shake before Curran leans over the table to exchange kisses with the young woman. “Hey, Sofe. How you doin’, kid?” Curran says to her.

“I’m well, Curran.” Her eyes dance my way. “How are you?”

“Good. I want you to meet someone,” he tells them. Instead of introducing us, he turns back to me. “Want to sit, babe?”

“Ah, sure.” I slip off my coat and scoot into the seat opposite them. I smile and wait for Curran to speak.

He shifts out of his heavy leather jacket and adjusts in his seat again before motioning to his brother. “Tess, this is my brother Killian, and his fiancée, Sofia. This here’s Tess.”

Both seem surprised to see me and exchange glances, but Killian is kind enough to offer me his hand. “Nice to meet you, Tess.”

Sofia smiles politely and waves. “Hi, Tess.” Both she and Killian quiet, waiting, it seems, for Curran to say more.

He doesn’t, so the three of us go back to staring at one another.

I’m searching for something to say when Killian motions to the pitchers. “Want a beer?”

“I…”

I haven’t drunk beer since college, but I don’t want to be rude, so I almost say yes. Thankfully, Sofia seems to sense my hesitation. “I don’t really drink, either,” she says. She points to the pitcher closest to her as Killian pours a beer for Curran and then one for himself. “This is Diet Coke, if you’d like some.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I’m not one for beer.”

Sofia returns my smile, but when she reaches for the pitcher, Killian lifts it from her grasp. “I got it, princess,” he tells her.

She leans into him when he drapes an arm around her, easily and openly accepting his warmth. Since my chatty significant other has suddenly developed a case of vocals absenti, I try to strike up a conversation. “You seem very comfortable around each other. Have you been together long?”

She glances up at him, laughing when he grins at her. “Almost three years,” she says. “We’re getting married at the end of June.”

Curran nudges me, leaning in close, but speaking loud enough for Killian and Sofia to hear. “They make it like they haven’t been together long, but don’t let them fool you. Kill’s loved Sofe since before he got pubes.”

Although the lighting is dim, I catch Sofia’s blush despite her efforts to shield her face with her small hands. Curran’s blunt remark doesn’t seem to bother Killian, but I guess he’s used to it. “We’ve known each other since we were kids,” he says, taking a moment to kiss her forehead. “We grew up together.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I say.

As the tension lifts, Curran’s shoulders relax. It occurs to me that despite what he claimed, he’s nervous about me meeting his family. “Do you want something else to drink besides Coke?” he asks me.

I think about it. “A martini would be nice.”

He smirks and yells to the bartender pouring drinks. “Hey, Sonny. Could I get a martini over here?”

“Fuck you, Curran,” the bartender responds.

“Sonny says they’re all out of top-shelf liquor,” Curran says casually, causing Killian and Sofia to laugh out loud.

I laugh, too. “All right, cop. I get it. It’s a ridiculous request given where we are.”

Curran grins. “You sayin’ Merve’s ain’t a classy joint?”

I place my hand over his forearm. Curran tilts forward and gives me a small peck on the lips, widening my smile, and I swear I could look into his eyes forever. Yet when I return my attention to Killian and Sofia, their dumbfounded expressions cause me to blush.

“Ah, perhaps we should order,” Sofia suggests. “They’re busy tonight and I’m not sure if something’s keeping Wren and Finn.”

“Good idea,” Curran says, snagging the waitress hustling by. “Millie, can you get us next?”

“Curran, we’re down a waitress. Could you order at the bar? It’ll be ready faster, and then Sonny could bring it out.”

“Fuck you,” Sonny responds.

The waitress rolls her eyes. “Just be a dear and order, Curran. I’ll make sure it gets out to youz.”

Curran looks to us. “Wings, more beer, and nachos sound good?”

“Yeah. A few orders of pierogies, too,” Killian answers, reaching for his wallet. “I think it’s their special.”

Curran holds out a hand. “My turn. You got us last time.” To me he says, “I’ll be right back, babe. I’ll also see if Sonny can mix something up for you, okay?”

Although I nod, I almost offer to go with him, feeling nervous about being alone with his family. In the end, I realize I should try to connect with them. Curran means so much to me, and they clearly mean everything to him. Besides, they seem like good people, just a little surprised to see us together.

I wait for Curran to step out of earshot before speaking. “I take it Curran didn’t mention I was coming?”

“No,” Killian says, shaking his head. “He didn’t mention a damn thing.”

Oh. “Well, I hope it’s okay. I don’t want to intrude on your evening.”

Killian laughs. “Nah, don’t sweat it. It’s not like that.”

“We’re happy you’re here,” Sofia adds with a smile.

I start to settle when a young man with short ginger curls flops down next to me just as Curran reaches the bar.

“God damn,” he says. “You wouldn’t believe how bad traffic was uptown.” His attention drifts to me, a smile lighting his face. “Hey, sweet thing. I’m Finn. You a friend of Sofi’s?”

Killian fixes him with a hard stare. “No, she’s with Curran. This is Tess.”

“Hi,” I say, quietly.

Finn stares at my hand when I offer it, but doesn’t take it. “No, shit,” he says, sounding amused.

I pull back my hand, thinking I’m missing something obvious.

“So, I take it you do nails?” he asks me.

“Ah, no,” I reply, wondering if I misheard.

Finn carries the lean, athletic build Curran once held, versus his current broader, muscular frame. Killian is more of a mountain of bulk and power, capable of crushing anything insane enough to step in his path.

I return my focus to Sofia, seeing that she’s the most endearing and least threatening person here. And given how Finn continues to eye me with an unapologetic scrutiny, it’s clear I made the right choice. She offers me an encouraging smile before turning to address Finn. “Where’s Wren? I thought you were driving over together.”

This is the something shiny Finn needs to distract him. “She’s talking to Julian on the phone,” he answers, turning back to them.

“He’s not coming?” Killian asks as he pours him a beer.

“Nah. They broke up.” Finn takes the beer. “She said he was crying over some movie they went to see. She couldn’t take it. Says she needs someone with balls. Big ones.” He nudges me. “You know what I’m saying?”

“That’s understandable,” I agree, since I have nothing better.

Someone wolf-whistles, followed by another group of someones. A tall and sensual woman with porcelain skin and long ebony hair sashays toward us wearing thigh-high boots over jeans and a suede fringe jacket that hugs her startling figure.

“Hey, fucktards,” Finn calls out. “Calm your shit. That’s my sister.”

“Sister?” the man circling her asks. “Well, if she’s your sister, I’d like to—”

Killian and Finn leap to their feet, their arms loose, but ready to tear him apart. Killian points at him. “Watch your mouth before you lose the few teeth you have left, asshole.”

The woman grins, clearly unaffected by the attention, and pats the man on the head. “Sorry, I don’t date men with small dicks.” She waves to the bar. “Hey, Sonny.”

“Hey, gorgeous,” the bartender says, actually smiling.

From the bar, Curran offers me a wink. Wow. His brothers aren’t the only ones watching out for their sister, and for that I’m grateful given Merve’s atmosphere.

She sits beside Killian. “What the hell is up with the men I date?” she asks. “None of them have any balls. Are balls too much to ask for?” It’s then she notices me. “Oh, hey. I’m Wren. You Sofi’s friend?”

I open my mouth, but Finn answers for me. “This is Tess. Get this—she’s with Curran.”

“Curran who?” Wren asks, crinkling her brow, although she knows exactly who Finn means.

“I know, right?” Finn adds, rolling his eyes.

“Be nice,” Sofia says at the sight of my stunned face.

Wren takes the beer Killian pours her and leans forward. “So I take it you do nails or massage people or something?”

Why do they keep asking me that? “No, I’m sorry. I’m not employed.”

“Ah, I get it,” Finn says. “You’re on welfare. Tough break, kid.”

I throw out a hand when they all nod like everything finally makes sense. “I’m not on welfare. I work for your other brother, Declan.”

“You his secretary?” Finn asks at the same time Wren says, “I thought you said you’re unemployed.”

“It’s an unpaid internship.” I glance around. For some reason, no one seems to understand what I’m saying. It’s as if I’m speaking another language, so I do my best to clarify. “I’m in my last semester of law school. I’m working at the district attorney’s office without pay for the experience.”

Instead of making things better, my words seem to confuse them more. “You’re in law school,” Finn repeats, like he doesn’t believe me.

“Ah, yes. I attend the University of Pennsylvania.”

“You seriously don’t do nails?” Wren asks, unable to move past this concept.

Sofia and Killian exchange another round of flabbergasted glances. Finn shakes out his hand. “Wait, wait, wait. I got this.” He looks at me. “What’s the cube root of seven hundred and twenty-nine?”

“What the fuck, Finn?” Killian asks him.

This is clearly a test. One I’m obviously failing, but one I can’t just walk away from. I give it some thought. “Nine?” I offer.

“Sofe, is that right?” Wren asks her.

She nods slowly. “It sounds right.”

Finn whips out his phone. “Siri, what’s the cube root of seven hundred and twenty-nine?”

“Let me check on that,” Siri says.

Killian snatches the phone out of his hand. “Quit being an asshole.”

“The answer is nine,” Siri responds.

“Holy shit,” Finn says, grinning back at me with what appears to be newfound respect.

Heat flushes my skin, and it’s all I can do not to climb out of the booth and run. Killian leans in. “Tess, ignore these morons. You have to understand, Curran doesn’t usually bring women around.”

“And when he does, they’re not of your…caliber,” Sofia adds.

“Hell, they can’t even spell ‘caliber,’ ” Finn quips.

“Neither can you, dumbass,” Wren fires back. She looks at me. “So you’re in law school?”

“Yes.”

“Ivy League, even.”

“That’s right,” I say, nodding like an imbecile.

“And you’re with Curran?”

Not after tonight. I straighten and clasp my hands together. “Yes.”

“Why?” she asks. “You’re not—what I’m saying is, you’re not—”

Finn huffs. “Psycho, money-grubbing, evil.”

Wren points at him. “What he said. You see, Curran usually dates outside his race. He’s a white Caucasian male, and his women are typically demon spawn from the planet Slut.”

My eyes widen. “So his typical companions are these, ah, fanatical, unemployed, hellish manicurists?”

“Yes,” they all answer, taking a drink.

Wren downs her beer. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot here, but you’re one hell of a breath of fresh air from what we’ve had to deal with.” She nudges Killian. “Remember crazy Miranda—the hairdresser? Do you think that asshole could have warned me he dumped her before I walked into her salon?” She pours herself another beer. “Freaking nutcase came after me with scissors, yelling about him having no dick. I was like, ‘Yo, you can’t be spreading rumors about my brother having no dick, seeing how you straddled that shit in the back of his car.’ ”

Killian laughs. “What about Crazy Alexis? The girl with the pet monkey?”

“Or Shania?” Finn points excitedly. “Oh, remember Shania? The one who spray-painted ‘LYING PUSSY’ on your truck, thinking it was Curran’s.”

Killian’s stare turns deadly. “I’m still pissed at him for that.”

“Well, I assure you I’m not unstable,” I offer, making a face. “Nor do I own a monkey.”

“So then what are you doing with Curran?” Finn asks.

They all quiet, waiting for me to answer. “He’s sweet to me,” I tell them, honestly. “And he treats me well.”

No one moves as they seem to infer a lot more than I intended.

“How long has Curran been ‘sweet’ to you?” Wren asks, adding finger quotes over the word.

I think about it, realizing how inseparable we’ve been. “Well over a month now,” I answer.

Once more, they exchange surprised glances. Sofia is the first to smile, a flicker of recognition brightening her small features. “I know you,” she says. “My sister Lety told me about you.”

“I’m sorry,” I answer, slowly. “But I don’t know anyone named Lety.”

She laughs a little. “You may not know her by name, but I believe you know her boyfriend, Brody Quaid Moore.” She clutches Killian’s arm. “Tess is the same girl Curran was willing to throw down for at that political fundraiser. That was you, wasn’t it?” she asks, turning back to me.

I can barely speak, warmth overtaking every inch of me. “Y-yes. That was me.”

It’s then Curran finally returns, three pitchers of beer gripped in one hand and a drink for me in the other. He’s followed closely by the waitress hefting a tray packed with food. “Move over, will ya, Finnie?” he says to him.

He places the pitchers down while Finn scoots out, and immediately sits beside me. Everyone then helps spread the plates of food across the large wooden table. Everyone but me. Curran pauses when he catches sight of my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing.” I shrug. “Your family here was just explaining your preference for psychopathic and avenging monkey-owning manicurists who wield scissors they purchase with their welfare coupons.”

He freezes before veering at his family. “I leave you alone for fifteen fucking seconds and this is what you tell her?”

Wren meets him in the eye, smiling. “Curran’s got a girlfriend,” she sings.

His brothers laugh, and I can’t tell who’s redder in the face, me or Curran. Sofia reaches across the table and pats my hand. “They mean well,” she assures me.

“Yeah, we do. She’s nice,” Finn tells Curran, laughing. “Not like that bitchy girl who tied you up in college….”

Chapter 19

Curran

“Available units to Stewart and Monroe. Suspect entered Old Mill Cannery. Officers O’Brien and Supreski in pursuit.”

Joey races ahead of me, cutting right. Goddamnit. What the hell are they teaching these recruits at the academy? He didn’t let me sweep first. Just charged in. I check right, then left, before springing forward and taking cover behind a stack of barrels reeking of stagnant salt water.

Joey crouches on the opposite side, behind another row of barrels. Even from where I huddle, and despite the darkness, I catch the gleam in his eyes. This rookie is raring for a fight. The first two we went to blows with hadn’t been enough to soothe his adrenalized rush. But he needs to settle down if we stand a chance of finding this perp.

I reach for my light, positioning it against my drawn weapon. “Philly PD,” I bark. “We know you’re in here. Step out with your hands up.”

Something metal hits the concrete and rolls to our far right. Joey whips around, aiming his gun and light in the direction of the sound. “Wait,” I snap when Joey lurches forward.

My guess is the perp tossed a can or something away from him—an old trick to lure us away—and I’m right. From the opposite side of the warehouse, something crashes. I prowl forward, keeping low, my gun pointed in front of me and my focus sharp.

It’s then I hear the subtle intake of pained breaths, 30 degrees to my left.

I turn toward the sound, keeping close to the barrels. My light nails the kid in the face. “Freeze. Hands where I can see them. Hands where I can see them, now!”

His wild eyes lock in my direction as his hands shoot above his head. Jesus, he looks twelve. “It’s okay, kid. It’s okay. Don’t move and keep your hands up, understand?” His head jerks toward the sound of screaming sirens. “Cover me,” I say to Joey. “I’ll cuff him.”

“I-I-I didn’t want to do this,” the kid says.

“Tell it to the judge, loser,” Joey mumbles.

“Zip it,” I tell him.

“I-I-I didn’t want to do this!” the kid stutters, this time louder. His entire body is trembling as bad as his voice, rattling the barrel pressed against his back.

The distant wails of sirens draw closer. “It’s all right, kid. No one’s going to hurt you,” I repeat, keeping my voice even. Judging by his tears, this has to be his first attempt at a felony. “Call it in, Supreski.”

“This is Officers Supreski and O’Brien. Perp located at the Old Mill Cannery on Stewart and Monroe. No need for backup.”

“Repeat, Supreski?” the dispatcher questions. It’s Gina, and she’s pissed. Like me, she’s probably figuring Joey has a lot of balls.

“Don’t tell them that,” I growl, taking over the call. “Perp located, appears to be unarmed. Immediate assistance requested.”

“I didn’t mean it—I had no choice, you hear me? I had no choice!”

“Kid’s scared shitless,” Joey says, like I’m missing something.

He’s right about the kid being scared. But a scared perp is a dangerous perp. I catch that familiar flash in his eye—the one you expect on cornered beasts. Fight or flight. I don’t want the kid to do either, or to force him to do something he’ll never be able to take back, so I keep my voice steady and my motions careful. “Easy, kid,” I say, edging closer. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The kid swears and starts bawling. He reminds me of the kids from my old neighborhood. Maybe that’s what makes me a little soft, and more than a little stupid. Any other perp would be thrown on the concrete, cuffed, and shoved in the back of my squad car.

“Just cuff him, already,” Joey mumbles, sounding annoyed.

“Shut up, and cover me,” I snap back. Joey expected more of a fight, and the adrenaline pumping through him is making him edgy. I know the feeling, and have felt it a thousand times over, but he needs to stay sharp.

“Turn around, kid. Hands against the wall.”

“I can’t go to jail!” The kid loses his shit, breaking down.

“I said turn around!” Another stupid kid from the street who ruined his life. Armed damn robbery. What a waste.

The kid shakes as he slowly turns and places his hands on the wall.

I tuck away my flashlight and house my weapon, using Joey’s light to see as I reach for my cuffs. Before I can blink, the kid snatches a gun lying on top of the barrel.

“Gun!”

I barely spit the word out. He spins out of reach and into the darkness. I dive as the first shot’s fired, the blast so loud it cuffs my ear.

Five more shots cut through the air. Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow. This time, I don’t hesitate. Kid or not, he wants us dead. I throw my arm out and over the old drum, shooting the kid dead center in his chest, narrowly missing his heart. He slumps to the ground, screaming.

I pounce on him and flip him over, wrenching his arm back and cuffing him. I ignore his agonized screams and yell into my radio, “Suspect shot and apprehended, need EMT at—”

A gurgling sound forces me to whip around. Through the funnel of light streaming from Joey’s discarded flashlight, I see Joey’s slumped form convulse as if seizing.

I kick the perp’s gun out of reach and bolt to Joey’s side. Blood seeps through his open wounds, his gun lying near his outstretched palm. He didn’t get one shot in. Not one. But he took at least three to the chest.

I yell into my radio, “Officer down. Repeat, officer down. Ambulance and immediate backup needed.”

The warehouse doors are kicked open, the voices of my brothers in blue and their racing footsteps echoing from all sides. I’m not alone, but it sure feels that way.

Joey’s trying to form words, words garbled from the blood oozing from his mouth.

I wrench off my jacket, bunching it and pressing it against his wounds, yelling at him to stay with me. But when I look down, Tess’s face looks up.

It’s her broken body, her blood, her eyes fading into death, her hand lifting toward my face.

“Curran!” she cries.

“Curran!”

–

“Curran!” Tess’s voice snaps me out of sleep; so does her grip on my arm.

“Oh, God,” she says, her thin arms reaching for me.

I snatch her to me, pulling her tight, breathing hard.

Her hands smooth down my back. “It’s okay. I’m all right. I’m all right,” she repeats, struggling to take a breath.

I loosen my hold on her, only because I’m afraid I’m killing her.

Killing her.

Jesus.

She died in my arms because I failed to do my job. Just like I failed Joey. My arms go numb, and I sense her and reality slip away.

“Baby, stay with me,” she whispers. “Everything is okay. You’re all right.”

No. I’m not. In my dream, Tess’s blood soaked my knees as it seeped out of the holes in her back. It painted my face red when she reached up to touch me and tell me goodbye. “No.”

“No? No what, sweetie?” she asks, keeping her voice soft.

“You weren’t all right,” I answer her.

“Curran…” She sweeps her lips over my crown. “Do you want to talk about it? Maybe tell me what happened?”

Tell her what happened? Tell her how the bullets punctured her delicate skin—and how her eyes glazed over with death? How about I tell her that all I did was watch, since it was all I could fucking do?

She felt heavy in my arms. Dead weight? Is that what they call it?

My eyes sting as I grip her hips, but it’s Tess who cries. “Baby, tell me how to help you.”

Her heart breaks right then and there as I hold her. She wants to help; she just doesn’t know how.

But I do.

I place her on her back and bend to kiss her eyelids. “Don’t cry,” I tell her. “Please don’t cry.” I pass my thumbs beneath her eyes, wiping the tears moistening her cheeks as my lips press against her forehead, her nose, her chin.

I wait for her to settle, then slide my hand down the center of her chest before returning to knead each breast. Tess covers my hand with hers on my second pass, keeping it in place. “I don’t want to be just someone you have sex with,” she says. “I want to help.”

“This helps,” I tell her, truthfully.

She seems sad, like she doesn’t understand, so I do my best to explain. “I’m not good with words. But when I’m with you, I don’t need them. I only need to know you’re here, and real, and safe.”

Slowly, Tess drops her hand away. “This will help you?” she asks.

I nod, feeling myself get hard. “Yeah. It will.”

She shifts her body and lets her legs fall open. “Then let me help you.”

I lower myself on top of her and find her lips with mine. My fingers drag down her body. Against her soft skin, my world is less harsh. In her breaths, I find the air to fill my lungs, and in her warmth, the coldness fades, and I become alive.

There isn’t time to play.

I need her, and everything she gives me.

Jesus, my body is starved for her.

I reach between us and push inside of her, causing her spine to bow and a gasp to break our kiss. I cup her face, locking on to her sea-glass eyes as my hips withdraw and plunge.

Back. Thrust.

Back. Thrust.

Back. Thrust.

My eyes drill into hers and my hips pound. Her fingers clench my shoulders as the heat between her legs builds, slicking me, inviting me to go faster. I tilt her head forward, bringing her face and that expression of shock mixed with lust closer to mine.

This is good. So good. And just what I need.

My arm slinks behind her to tilt her pelvis, giving me access to that perfect spot. She whimpers, letting me know I found it. And when her whimpers grow more desperate, I know she’s peaking.

It’s exactly what I need to hear. That, and maybe a little more.

“Are you going to come for me?” I ask, breathing hard.

Her response releases in a long moan. “Yes.”

“Then come for me now,” I gasp. “I need to feel you come.”

Her expression breaks and tears stream down her face. Her eyes squeeze shut and she thrashes, her body losing control as she cries out my name.

I slow my rhythm but drive in deeper, prolonging her experience, and mine.

God, she’s everything.

My hips grind against hers as I fill her. I kiss her lips, taking my time before pulling out.

Carefully, I edge down and lower my head between her breasts. Her heart pounds against my ear, proof that she didn’t die, that I haven’t lost her, and that she’s mine.

If I let myself, I’ll fall asleep and stay this way until morning. I’m sure of it. But I need to keep hearing that heartbeat.

When it finally slows, I feel her fingers skim through my hair.

“Tell me about your dream,” she says.