My whole body tightened.
“Dex.”
“I’ve got you.”
“You’re very sure of that.”
“I am right now.”
Right now.
The words were supposed to remind me what this was. Temporary. Tactical. A bad idea with a countdown.
Instead, they shoved me over the edge.
I came again with his name in my mouth, sharp and shaking, my body clamping around his cock as pleasure tore through me. Dex swore against my skin. His hips drove into me once, twice, then harder, and the last thread of control in him snapped.
His cock pulsed inside me, and his body locked over mine. His breath came hot against my neck. His fingers dug into the mattress beside my head.
For a few seconds, we breathed like we’d run all the way from Old Quarry Road.
Dex settled some of his weight onto me, careful even then. His face was buried against the side of my neck. His crucifix lay warm between my breasts. My legs still bracketed his hips, and my hands had found his back and stayed there.
I loosened my grip.
Dex lifted his head slowly.
His eyes moved over my face, then down to my mouth, then back up again. He brushed damp hair away from my cheekwith two fingers. The touch was small enough that I could’ve pretended not to feel it anywhere important.
I turned my face to the side.
Wrong move.
The hair behind my right ear slipped back.
Dex’s thumb followed the line of my jaw, then paused.
“What’s this?” he asked.
My pulse kicked.
His thumb touched the skin behind my ear, light enough to be a question. Not the shared flowers on my leg. Not the anchor and compass on my shoulder. The other mark. The one so small it usually belonged only to me.
I kept my voice steady. “Ink.”
“I figured that part out.”
“You want a certificate?”
His thumb moved over it again, slow. “It’s tiny.”
“It’s a drop.”
His mouth came closer to the spot. “Black ink?”
I swallowed. “Occupational hazard.”
“You didn’t mention it.”
