Page 40 of Restored By You

I pick up the pace, and the easy rhythm gives way to something deeper, hungrier. Her back arches off the bed and I hook a hand under her lower back, tilting her hips to meet mine, finding the angle that makes her cry out and tighten around me all at once as my cock drags right where she needs me.

“There,” she gasps. “Right—yes! Oh, god, Rhett!”

I drive into her, watch her come undone beneath me. Her thighs trembling, her hands gripping the sheets. The wet sounds between us fill the space around us and I feel it building at the base of my spine—that unraveling tension I’ve been holding back since the moment she walked through my front door tonight.

“Look at me,” I say, low and rough.

Her eyes find mine and the intimacy of it hits harder than anything else. Her walls tighten around me and she comes apart, her pussy clenching and shuddering. I follow her over the edge with a groan buried into the curve of her neck as I empty completely.

We stay tangled together, breathing hard, neither of us moving. Her fingers trace slow, absent patterns along my forearm. My lips rest at her temple. And after a long moment, she sighs—deep and satisfied.

“So,” she says, her voice soft and wrecked and amused all at once. “About that coffee.”

I laugh. Full and real, shaking both of us.

I roll to my side and pull her with me, her back to my chest, my arm anchoring her close. She fits against me perfectly and it has my chest tightening. “How long do we have?” I ask with a kiss on her shoulder, knowing this moment will end eventually.

She hums. “A few hours, give or take.”

“A few hours, huh?” I press another kiss to her shoulder, her neck, the soft spot behind her ear. She shivers. “That’s plenty of time,” I murmur against her skin, sliding my arm from around her waist to trail my fingers down her side, rounding to her still damp pussy.

She squirms, giggling. “I thought you were getting me coffee.”

“Changed my mind.” I press my lips to her ribs and she dissolves.

“Rhett!” She laughs, twisting in my arms, her curls a wild halo across the pillow as she turns to face me. Her eyes are bright, cheeks flushed, still breathless, and she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.

I brace over her, grinning down at her like an idiot. She looks up at me and something in her expression softens past the laughter. Her hand comes up to my jaw, her thumb tracing the line of my stubble. “I’m really glad I’m here.”

I turn my face to press a kiss to her palm. “Me, too.”

Fourteen.

Shea

There’s a particular kind of torture in watching a man use a nail gun when you spent the better part of last night learning what else those hands can do.

Rhett’s crouched at the base of the stairs, refitting the newel post we pulled loose on Friday, sleeves shoved to his elbows, forearms doing the thing. The same thing I now have extensive, firsthand, cannot-stop-replaying data on.

Focus, Shea.

I’m supposed to be filming. The camera’s in my hands, red light on, ostensibly capturing B-roll of the staircase restoration for the pilot. Instead, I’ve been filming the same six inches of his shoulder for a full minute and a half.

“You gettin’ all this?” he asks, not looking up.

“Every second.” I do not clarify what this refers to.

He glances back over his shoulder, and the look he gives me is devilishly knowing and does something criminal to my insides. “Come here. Hold this level while I set it.”

I set the camera on the drop cloth—still rolling, because Tyler drilled always leave it running, you never know into me like the tiny director he’s becoming—and cross to crouch beside him. He guides my hand to the post, his fingers wrapping around mine, warm and rough. And neither of us is looking at the level.

“This feels very unprofessional, Mr. Montgomery,” I murmur.

“Mm.” His mouth grazes my temple. “Fire me.”

“I can’t. You’re the only contractor in town who shows up.”

“Damn right.” He kisses me, quick and easy, like he’s done it a thousand times in the last twelve hours. And then he’s back to the post like nothing happened, leaving me kneeling on a drop cloth with my heart and vagina singing.