“Oh God.” I contract around his cock, pleasure bursting in my belly, in my core, ricocheting through me. Another wave of pleasure rolls down my spine, and I shake, drowning in it. Never felt anything like it. “Crap.”
“That’s it.” He’s still hard inside me, his strong body tense as I shake with the last ripples of pleasure. “You’re beautiful.”
“So are you.” I gasp for breath, resting my head on his shoulder, and he holds me, still buried inside me, so that with every tiny shift of his body, tiny aftershocks rock me. “Inside and out.”
“Hell no.” He twists and pulls me down with him so that we’re lying side by side, one of my legs thrown over his hip. He rocks inside me, and I catch my breath on a moan. “I’m a fuck-up. But I need you.”
I stroke his cheek, not sure what to say, how to make him see himself as I see him, but then he rolls over me, thrusting deep, and all I can do is wrap my legs around him and hold on. He rocks into me, pulling back, plunging back in, muscles cording on his chest and arms. There’s a glint of fear in his eyes I don’t understand, a frenzy in his movements as he thrusts faster and faster, sweat slicking his body.
“Rafe…” I whisper, reaching for his face. Why is he so worried I’ll leave him? He’s the one always running from me. Maybe I need to finally say it, tell him I love him.
But the pressure is mounting again, distracting me, and he’s close now, I can feel it in the way his breath hitches and his movements falter. He snaps his hips one, two, three times and lets out a strangled sound as he comes, pulsing inside me.
A moan escapes me as I tighten around him, in one more burst of pleasure that shoots up my spine until I arch off the mattress.
He collapses on top of me, eyes closing, his harsh breathing echoing in the bedroom. He grunts as he slowly pushes off me and rolls to my side. “Come here.” Tugging me into his arms, he sighs, a content grin on his face.
As I drift to sleep, warm and loose-limbed, I remember he said we had to talk. I vaguely remember the bad feeling I had earlier today, and I tell myself, Girl, see? You were wrong this time.
I’m Rafe’s, and I’ve never been happier in my life. Which is why I’m ignoring the warning bells in my head. I should know better by now, shouldn’t I? That nothing’s ever perfect and happiness doesn’t last.
No matter how hard you wish for it.
***
The smell of freshly brewed coffee is the first thing my senses register. Faint light seeps through the blinds, and I squint at it. I’m lying on my side. In Rafe’s king size bed.
Alone.
His pillow smells like him—wood smoke, warm metal, musk. Wintry mint. I push my face into its softness, inhale.
Then pull back and glance around. Chances are, Rafe is standing at the door, watching me acting like a crazy woman with his pillow.
Only he isn’t.
I sit up, wincing a little at the soreness inside, and the slight ache has my insides clenching in anticipation and sliver of pleasure shoot up my back. My breasts feel heavy and swollen, my nipples tight.
Oh lord… I suck in a breath, hold it, let it out slowly. This is crazy. Wanting someone so much.
I look around for my clothes and locate my pants in a heap on the floor, my blouse and bra in the corner. No sign of my panties.
Holy crap, I’m in Rafe’s room, and he asked me out, and I said yes.
No way.
I’m grinning like a lunatic as I gather up my clothes and pull them on. Ah, there are my panties—soaked and smelling like sex. Jesus…
I ball them up, stuff them in my pocket, pull on socks and boots, and peek out of the room. Following the smell of coffee like a tangible thread, I cross the living room and find the kitchen. The door is open, giving me a glimpse of a narrow window and rows of cupboards. There’s a small table with two chairs, and Rafe is sitting in one of them, cradling a steaming mug.
He’s wearing gray striped pajama pants, his short hair like sculpted gold in the morning light streaming through the window, his bare back a riot of colors.
“Morning,” I say when it becomes clear he hasn’t noticed me, and he starts, the coffee sloshing in the mug.
“Meg. Didn’t hear you.”
“You were a thousand miles away.” I go inside, sit across from him. “Got more of that coffee?”
“Here.” He slides the mug across to me, shoots me a quick smile, and gets up to grab another from the counter. “Sleep well?”