Page 86 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“You’ve been practicing.”

“Lily helped.” Her hips rolled harder, her eyes never leaving his. “Did I say it right?”

“Perfectamente.” His hands tightened on her hips. “Say it again.”

“Te pertenezco.” Faster now. “Te pertenezco, Stefan.”

“Erika.” Her real name, ragged. “Mírame.”

She opened her eyes, held his gaze, and came with his name on her lips—her whole body shaking, her walls clenching around him in tight, pulsing waves. The sight of her—open, his—tore through the last of his control. He grabbed her hips and thrust up hard and let go. The orgasm ripped through him with her name in his mouth.

Then she collapsed onto his chest, boneless and breathing hard, and the tears finally came. They weren’t from sadness—they were from the shock of being held by someone who wasn’t in a hurry to be anywhere else.

Stefan didn’t ask what they meant. He just kissed the sweat off her skin and held her like she might disappear. He listened as her breathing slowed, the weight of her against him, until he was the only one left awake in the quiet of the room.

Te pertenezco.

STEFAN

Stefan woke to the smell of coconut and the weight of her head on his chest.

He lay there, one arm curled around her back, the ceiling fan stirring air that smelled like salt, sex, her shampoo.

Her hair spilled across his skin, honey-gold against the white sheets. He let himself look. The sweep of her lashes, the faint freckles across her nose that makeup always hid. In sleep, all her armor was gone.

He didn’t move. Didn’t want to. She stirred beside him, her nose scrunching.

“I can feel you staring,” she said, eyes still closed. “It’s very intense for whatever ungodly hour this is.”

He traced his fingertips up her spine. “I’m not staring. I’m memorizing. There’s a difference.”

She groaned a laugh into his chest. “That’s worse. That’s so much worse.” She lifted her head, finally looking at him—sleep-creased and bare-faced. Her eyes were the warm brown he saw when he closed his own.

“I keep waiting for this to feel strange,” she said. “Waking up in your bed. Being here. It should feel strange.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing the soft skin below. She leaned into his hand and his breath caught.

“I really do have to go.” She pushed herself up on one elbow, her hair falling across his chest. “Call time. Anneliese Morgan. Career-ending fraud. The usual.”

“Quédate.” He pulled her closer, her bare skin sliding against his. “Five more minutes. I’m not ready to give you back to the rest of the world yet.”

Her fingers traced a slow line across his chest, over his collarbone, down to rest above his heart. “Five minutes. And then I’m gone. You never saw me. This never happened.”

“Terrible liar.”

“The worst.” But she settled back against him.

He sat up, letting the sheet pool at his waist. Her gaze dropped, then snapped back to his face. Too late.

“Come running with me.”

“Stefan, running on a treadmill with a trainer is bad enough. Running outside? On sand? The last time I ran outdoors voluntarily, I was being chased by a bee.” She pulled the sheet up to her chin. “I’m not built for cardio. I’m built for sitting very still and drawing things.”

She was naked in his bed, hair a mess, ranting about bees. He wanted to keep her here forever. Joder. He was so fucked.

“Make it to the rocks before I catch you,” he said. “And I’ll never ask you to run again. Breakfast in bed for a week.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And if you catch me?”