“Permanent,” she echoes, and there’s something vulnerable in her expression. “You mean that?”
“Every word.” I kiss her neck, my hands sliding up from her waist to just below her ribs. “This is ours now. The bedroom. The closet. The space we’re making together.”
“Good,” she says, but her voice has gone slightly breathless. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Even when you’re being weird about furniture placement.”
“I’m not being weird about furniture placement.”
“You’ve been staring at the nightstand for five minutes,” she points out. “Like it personally offended you. What’s in there that’s got you so jumpy?”
Heat floods my face. “Nothing. Just. Takeout menus. Old receipts. The usual junk.”
She studies me for a long moment, then apparently decides to let it go. “Okay,” she says. “But eventually you’re going to have to clean it out. Make room for my stuff. That’s how cohabitation works.”
“I know how cohabitation works.”
“Do you?” She’s smiling now, that particular smile that means she’s about to say something that will either make me laugh or make me want to kiss her. Possibly both. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re panicking about sharing drawer space.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You’re definitely panicking.” She reaches up to cup my face, her thumb tracing my cheekbone. “It’s okay. This is new. For both of us. We’ll figure it out.”
The trust in her expression makes my throat tight. She thinks I’m nervous about her moving in. About sharing space. About the vulnerability of letting someone into every corner of my life.
She’s not wrong. But she’s also not entirely right.
“Come here,” I say, and kiss her before she can ask more questions.
She melts into me immediately, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair. The kiss deepens, turns hungry. My hands find the hem of her shirt and she makes that sound. The one that’s half-surprise, half-desire, and fully my favorite thing in the world.
“Tovek,” she says against my mouth. “I’m trying to unpack. This is important work. Making this space ours is a legitimate project.”
“The unpacking has been a project for three days,” I point out, my teeth finding her earlobe. “Another hour won’t make a difference.”
“An hour?” She pulls back slightly, her expression doing that complicated thing where she’s both amused and genuinely interested and maybe a little competitive. “That’s ambitious.”
“I’m feeling motivated.” I walk her backward until her knees hit the bed, and the cardboard box tips over, spilling packing paper everywhere. “All this talk about permanence and building a life together. It’s very inspiring.”
She laughs. That bright, unexpected sound that makes my stomach do acrobatics. “You’re ridiculous. I’m trying to find a place for our trophy, and you’re?—”
The words cut off as I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands already reaching for the button of her jeans.
“Oh.”
“I’m what?” I ask, looking up at her as I slide the denim down her legs. “Being ridiculous? Not appreciating your organizational skills? Not properly grateful for your unpacking intervention?”
“Being distracting,” she manages, lifting her hips so I can pull her jeans free completely. “Very, very distracting.”
“Good.” I kiss the inside of her knee, then higher, my mouth tracing a path up her thigh. “Because you’ve been distractingme all morning. Walking around in those shorts, bending over boxes, talking about ‘our space’ in that voice.”
“What voice?” she protests, but her legs are already spreading to make room for my shoulders.
“The one that makes me want to prove we belong together,” I say, my breath hot against her inner thigh. “The one that makes me want to mark every inch of this room as ours.”
“That’s not—” The words dissolve into a gasp as my mouth finds her through the thin cotton of her underwear, my tongue flat against her center. “Tovek.”
I don’t answer. Just hook my fingers in the waistband and pull the fabric down and away, leaving her completely exposed. She’s already wet, already responsive, and the sight of her makes my cock throb painfully against my jeans.
“I’m going to take my time,” I say, my mouth hovering just above where she needs me most. “Make you forget about unpacking. Make you forget about everything except this.”
