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His eyes search mine, confused, because he can probably feel how turned on I am through my thin shorts. “Why not?”

“Because this was about you,” I tell him softly, brushing a kiss over the corner of his lips. “You’ve been carrying too much all day. You needed to let go. I got what I wanted.”

He looks at me for a long moment, his fingers flexing lightly against my skin.

Then he cups the back of my head and pulls me into another kiss, deeper this time, but still unhurried. It’s the kind of kiss that seeps into my bones, making me forget where I end and he begins.

When he finally rests his forehead against mine, his voice is barely a murmur. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Once his clothes are back on, we leave the office together, his hand wrapped around mine. He holds me close all the way to our room, like maybe I’ve managed to rub off more than just his stressed edges tonight.

When we finally climb into bed, our teeth brushed, me in another one of his t-shirts, and him in shorts, he slides an arm around my waist and holds me close, like he’s the ship in the storm and I’m the anchor he’s always needed.

And he doesn’t let me go all night.

twenty

EDEN

There’s a moment between sleep and wakefulness when I feel completely and utterly safe. Like nothing can touch me or hurt me, because there’s a solid wall of muscled man at my back, his arm wrapped around me, his palm warm under my T-shirt as it’s splayed against the bare skin of my stomach.

His chest moves in slow, even breaths, and the steady beat of his heart thuds against my spine. He’s hard, thick, and hot against my ass. My cheeks pink at the memory of him in my mouth – how full I felt. How turned on I was.

He tightens his hold, as though even in sleep he’s telling me not to move an inch.

But I’m getting overheated and I need water, so I try to wriggle out of his locktight embrace.

West mutters a curse. The kind that would make any mother raise her eyebrows. “Where are you going?” he asks.

I turn to look at him. He has the grumpiest expression on his face. And it takes all I have not to laugh, because until Vegas, I’d never seen him grumpy. I guess my magic blow job skills must wear off after a few hours.

“I need a drink.”

“No alcohol at this time of the morning.” He’s still holding on tight to me.

“Water, you ass.” I roll my eyes at him. “What’s got you so angry?

“I’m not angry,” he mutters, shifting behind me. His hips press forward, his hardness unmistakable, and it sends a shot of desire through me. “I’m horny. And you keep wiggling your tight little body against me like it’s a goddamn invitation.”

My breath hitches. “Maybe it is,” I tell him, because hello? Only one of us got off last night. If anybody should be feeling needy, it’s me.

I arch against him again, because apparently I love poking the lion, and he almost growls as he rolls us over, my back to the mattress, his huge body hovering over me, a dark expression on his face that makes my body clench.

“Not a morning person then,” I murmur.

“I beg to differ.” He kisses my throat, running his hand over my bare legs. “I’m very, very effective in the morning.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling him right where I need him. He lets out another groan.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” he murmurs.

“I’m not playing,” I tell him. “Just seeing how far you’ll take it.”

He blinks, just once, like I’ve pulled the ground out from under him. And then he rocks his hips and I can’t think of anything but the stupidly large cock pressing against all the right places. His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and hot, and his hand slides beneath my shirt to cup my breast.

His other hand skims down my thigh, hooking my leg around his hip, grinding against me until?—

Knock. Knock.