I swallow the rest with my mouth, kissing him through the rush of sensation, through the way his hands clutch at me, afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. And for a few dizzying seconds, all the noise in my head goes silent.
It’s just him. Hutch under me, around me, pulling me closer, every inch of him claiming what he’s been waiting for all damn day. And when he finally breaks the kiss to gasp my name, I know I’m done for.
“Kip—” His voice cracks, fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Don’t stop.”
Like that’s an option.
“I’m not going anywhere.” It scares me that I mean it more than I should.
Hutch clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in the room, his thigh tightening around my hip as he pulls me deeper against him. Every sound he makes, every hitched breath, every hoarse, broken gasp, spurs me on. He meets me with a desperate, focused intensity, chasing something only I can give him.
The rhythm builds fast—too fast—but he’s already trembling, already right there beneath my hands. He buries his face in my neck, teeth grazing my skin, and the way he shudders tells me everything I need to know.
It hits him suddenly, his whole body tightening, breath punching out of him as he comes apart. I hold him through it, through the way he gasps and clutches and tries to get even closer, as if he wants to fuse us together. The second he surrenders and goes all shaky beneath me, the rush takes me too. I’m gone before I can even fight it, biting down on a groan against his shoulder.
When it’s done, I collapse onto him, caging him in but careful not to crush him. He lets out a ragged, wrecked laugh, one hand drawing lazy lines along my spine.
“Bloody hell,” he murmurs. “If that’s what threatening to defect gets me …”
I lift my head to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re not leaving LaRue. Not on my watch. Jacques would have my head.”
He smiles, sleepy and satisfied. I ease out of him, clean us up with the last of the hotel tissues, and tug him against me. He curls in without hesitation, thigh thrown over mine, head tucked under my chin like we’ve done this a hundred times instead of … whatever we’re calling tonight.
His breathing evens out in minutes. I stroke my thumbalong his shoulder until his muscles completely melt and he’s out cold in my arms.
And even though I know I should pull away, should keep some kind of distance, I don’t. I hold him, listen to the steady rise and fall of his chest, and let myself drift asleep too.
CHAPTER 15
Hutch
I wake to cold sheets and the hollow thud of my stomach dropping straight through the mattress.
Brilliant. Of course he’s gone. Pulling away again, just like after the damn pub.
For one delirious, reckless moment last night, I let myself believe it meant something. That the way he held me afterward, the way he breathed against my neck as he slept, wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment nonsense.
And somewhere between his arm tightening around me and the sun coming up, it hit me, hard and heart-stopping, that I don’t just want him. I like him.
Christ, you absolute knobhead.
I sit up too fast, scrubbing a hand over my face. The room’s eerily quiet. No note. No text. An indent in the carpet where his suitcase was, which means it’s probably all packed and ready to go next to the door.
“Bloody—” I cut myself off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The ache in my hips is a smug reminder of how thoroughly I set myself up for this.
If he’s decided to pretend last night didn’t happen, I swear I’m going to?—
The door clicks.
I freeze.
Then Kip shoulders it open, kicking it shut behind him with his heel. He’s holding two coffees, a paper bag clamped under his arm, and he’s wearing yesterday’s shirt, his hair damp from a shower I didn’t hear.
“Morning,” he says, oblivious to the fact that my entire internal world has been melting down for the last thirty seconds. “You’re up.”
I blink at him. “You left.”
He stops mid-step, frowning, and holds up one of the cups. “To get breakfast.”
