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“I fucked you more than once last night,” he purred into my skin.
My cheeks colored at the reminder, and I swallowed, trying to get my thoughts in order. Because yes, okay,fine. I’d kind of lost my mind last night.
We both had.
Something in me had snapped after our first tumble. It unlocked this deep, impossibly starved craving, and suddenly we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. No matter how many times he made me moan and scream, or what angle he took me from, it hadn’t been enough. We’d be satiated for a short stretch of time, and then one of us would reach for the other again.
We kept going until our bodies gave out. I couldn’t even remember falling asleep. I think I was just so exhausted at one point that I blinked and that was it. I was out.
“Speaking of,” he murmured, “how are you feeling?”
“Sore,” I rasped. My muscles were about as solid as jelly, my pelvic area felt like it’d lost a boxing match with a jackhammer, and my throat was charred from chanting his name all night. But in the good way. “You?”
He inhaled deeply, his embrace softening just a tad. “I’m processing.”
And here I was, doing my best to avoid that exact thing.
“I need to shower and get ready,” I muttered. This time, though, I made no effort to move away from him.
“Or you could stay,” he said.
“That’s a horrible idea. One of your worst.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t want to keep lying to your family about this whole engagement nonsense?” Especially since I was almost certain he hadn’t been entirely honest about his reasoning. “Or maybe because absolutely no good could come out of this?”
“Out of what, Sanchez? You and me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“And you rarely ever actually answer them.”
I sighed, realizing only then that at some point during the conversation, my fingers had started playing with his.
“What would be the endgame? I stay, we have more sex, and then what? We just… keep going until this thing fizzles?”
I frowned to myself as soon as the words were out because that wasn’t a half-bad idea. I mean, eventually, it had to burn out. We’d fuck each other out of our systems, shake hands, and be on our way.
It would only take a week. Two, max.
But then he said, “What if it doesn’t?”
“If it doesn’t what?”
“What if it doesn’t fizzle out? What if the opposite happens? What if you actually start to like me?”
I laughed. “That’s never going to happen.”
Had our fingers not been tangled just then, I may not have picked up on the subtle way he stilled for just a moment. And it was either in my head or he shifted slightly away from me.
“Why? Because of Alba?” he asked. “Because I wasn’t a good boss?”
I could feel the drift begin. If I pushed just a little more, the frail little tether holding us together would snap, and he’d let me go.
