What Lovers Do

“Because of the nap?” Shep doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. I’m trying to be serious about not being serious with him, and he’s making jokes.

“Stop. I need you to get what I’ve been telling you since the day we met.”

“No dating. The arranged marriage. I’m not your reality. You’re on the run from the police. Maybe you’re homeless …” He rubs his lips together. “Got it.”

Mirroring him, I rub my thoroughly kissed lips together and nod. “Yes. All of that.”

“I’m not allowed to fall in love with you. I’m not allowed to stalk you. I’m not allowed to plaster photos of you all over my dream board.” There he goes again, making me grin when I need to be serious.

I clear my throat. “Correct.”

“I don’t want to marry you, Sophie. I just want to fuck you before your dad and Taryn get back here.”

Gah! When he puts it like that…

“It’s probably not going to happen.” I tip my chin up, shoulders back.

“I’ve waited a million years.”

“Shep,” I snort. “No.”

“Yes.” He grabs my face and kisses me again.

Again, I push him away. “No.”

He wipes the back of his hand along the corner of his mouth as defeat settles into his eyes.

“You…” I point a stiff finger at his face “…don’t get to call me subpar in bed, flirt with that chick at the store, weasel your way on this trip with me, and press all my buttons until I play the worst game of golf I’ve ever played, then think I’m going to spread my legs and let you climb on top of me. No. Fuck no.”

He blows out a long breath and lowers his gaze to the floor.

Checkmate.

“I’m going to be on top,” I say.

It takes a few moments for him to lift his gaze back to mine, a slight wrinkle of confusion on his face until I relinquish a grin.

“I’m going to be on top,” I repeat, taking my time getting to him, pressing my hands to his chest, and backing him into my bedroom.

Shep tosses his hat onto the floor as I work his shirt up his torso. He grabs it and peels it off in one quick motion.

We kiss for a few seconds, and I shove him backward onto my bed.

He chuckles, lacing his fingers behind his head as I remove my shirt and shorts. My hand brushes down my belly like I need to make sure it’s still flat. Shep’s gaze follows my hand, so I cover up my belly check by letting my hand navigate down the front of my panties.

“Sophie …” His grin swells and he draws in his lower lip, gnawing at it for several seconds.

I close my eyes and touch myself for a few more breaths.

“Christ, Soph …” He groans. “Careful, you just ate.”

I have to bite my lips to keep from laughing. A grin cracks my face the second I open my eyes. “I like being under your skin.” I set my glasses aside before leaning forward. My fingers make precise movements opening his fly and pulling his shorts down his muscular legs along with his briefs.

Keeping his hands behind his head, his grin swells as I shimmy out of my panties. I crawl up his body and straddle him, teasing my fingertips along his abs just as he jackknives to sitting. It happens so quickly, I gasp. The intensity in his eyes makes it hard to release my breath, to surrender, to stay focused on my mission which is to be on top, to stay in control of him, of us, of my emotions.

“Crawl under my skin, Soph …” he whispers before brushing his lips over mine. “It will never be close enough.”

I lower onto him, ensnared in his gaze, fingers curling into his shoulders. “Shep …” I close my eyes.

Don’t say that.

Don’t mean it.

Don’t … just … don’t.

I lose control. So does he.

I’m on top. He’s on top.

I touch him; I touch us where we’re joined, drawing a slow moan from him.

He touches me, his mouth on my breasts, his hands in my hair, ghosting down my back, gripping my ass as he moves inside me.

This is messy. We are tangled in every way, and it’s going to be hard to untangle from this mess we’re creating without pieces of my heart ripping, without exposing all the parts I don’t want him to see.

“Sophie …” He moves over me, eyelids heavy.

I press my palms to his face, framing it, taking a mental picture of the way he’s looking at me—a snapshot of truth in a bed of lies.

As he reaches his release, he drops his head to my shoulder, I grind my hips into him.

“God … Shep …” My fingernails dig into his flesh as my lips brush his ear, my labored breaths whispering to him just how much I’ve let him under my skin, inside of me in every way possible.