“That’s my girl.” His voice is frayed. “You want it now?”
I nod frantically, and he swirls my clit and slaps it once, then must feel me clench around him because his breath stutters on a curse.
“Now,” he orders, his hips thrusting up beneath me. “Come for me. Let me see it.”
The command rips through me, and my head tips back against his shoulder, mouth open on a long, raw moan. Pleasure breaks hard and bright through my body, pulse after pulse clamping around him.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he whimpers, grip locking on my hips as his thrusts turn deep and rough. “That’s my Pretty Penny. Come all over me.”
“Fuuuck, Evan—I’m coming—oh, god—I’m—I'm coming for you—”
His control snaps, and his hands haul me down hard as his hips jerk up The sound that tears out of him is broken and filthy and all mine.
“Yes, fuck me, baby—coming, too—”
We sag together, breathing hard and fast. In the mirror, we look flushed and glistening.
“Loud enough?” he asks through a gravelly chuckle.
I laugh breathlessly. “I think the neighbors heard us, too.”
He hums, then presses a kiss to the back of my neck.
I draw a breath that finally feels whole and let my head rest against his shoulder. His heart thuds against my back, each beat a faint echo where our bodies are still joined.
“Could watch you like this all night,” he murmurs, hand lifting to sweep damp hair from my cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of my mouth. “You make everything else disappear.”
A lazy smile curls before I can help it. “Even the Maplewood Cup final?”
“Even that.” He presses a kiss to the shell of my ear. “You stole every bit of focus I had weeks and weeks ago, Pen.”
I turn enough to meet his eyes in the glass again. We look beautifully ruined. And it hits me that I’ve never seen myself like this before. Unabashed and loud. Wanted.
I slide my fingers over the back of his hand where it rests on my stomach, tracing the tendons.
“I like this view,” I say huskily.
He smiles, pressing his lips to the curve of my shoulder.
“Me too.”
Chapter twenty-one
Everything ordinary, everything fragile
Evan
The coffee at the station tastes like it always does. Burnt but strong and reliable. I’m halfway through pouring my second cup into my travel mug when Colt leans back in his chair and tips his chin toward it.
“Didn’t peg you for the reusable thermos life,” he says. “You finally joining the rest of us in adulthood?”
“It was a gift,” I tell him.
“From your five-year-old?”
I don’t answer that, because he already knows from who.
From a woman who screws the lid on extra tight because she’s concerned about it spilling in the truck. The same woman who sets the coffee timer early enough that the pot finishes brewingright before my alarm goes off. The one who presses it into my hand at the door, steals a quick kiss, and whispers “be safe” before I leave.
