Page 316 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Well, I said we only humped⁠—”

“Humped?” He lets out a surprised laugh, and my blush deepens, which only makes him laugh more. “Well, I suppose that’s the right term?”

“Well, she made a comment about dry humping, and I said that we’ve . . . wet humped before . . .”

The stranger laughs harder and buries his face against my neck, his shoulders shaking.

“I know . . .” I groan.

“Wet humping . . .” he says, his whole body shaking in mirth.

I cover my face with my hands. Why did I tell him? But I suddenly realize that I’ve never heard him laugh like this ever, and I can’t regret it. It takes him a full minute to pull himself together, and then he bites my neck playfully.

I moan. “That feels good.”

“As good as wet humping?” he asks, chuckling again.

I push away from him, swatting at him when he tries to pull me back. “Let go, you brute. I want to freshen up.” I roll away from him, but don’t even make it off the bed before he’s yanked me back beneath him. He’s still laughing as he kisses along my neck and ear, his smile wide as he nips my throat. I can’t help but smile in return, but I grumble to keep up the guise that I’m annoyed.

“Still thinking about it?” he asks, humor lightening his voice.

I wiggle out from under him and manage to slip out of his arms, running to the bathroom before he can catch me again. I wash my face and brush my hair before changing into sweatpants and a cropped vest top. He’s reading again when I walk back into my room, but he looks up at me, and I can feel the humor still radiating from him. I have to force myself not to smile. Grabbing my Realms textbook on my way back to the bed, I sit next to him, making a point not to touch him. He chuckles again and places the book he was reading to the side before plucking the textbook from my hands and dropping it on the floor with a heavy thud. His arms wrap around me, and he drags me beneath him, settling his weight heavily on top of me.

“You wouldn’t be pouting, would you, princess?”

“No,” I say, resting my hands on his waist, barely breathing.

“Not at all?” He smirks and bends down, nipping at my neck.

“No . . .” I bite back a moan, but I’m not sure I’m convincing.

“That’s too bad. I know what to do with pouty brats.”

My stomach flutters. “Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. I have ways.”

I do allow myself to moan this time. “Well maybe I’m pouting a ­little . . .”

“A little?” he asks, sucking on my neck.

I moan again.

His groan is primal. “I remember your taste perfectly,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth over my pulse.

I remember how his hands felt, how his body felt on top of me, how his lips felt . . . Brushing my fingers down his arms, I frown when I feel something against his wrist. I push him back and tug his hand between us, tracing the outline of the bracelet that I gifted him.

“You’re wearing it,” I say. I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed before, but the fact that he is wearing it has something warm, tender, and gentle unfurling inside me.

“I often do,” he says, supporting his weight on the opposite elbow he has planted next to my head.

“When do you not?” I ask.

“Work, normally,” he says, cupping my cheek.

I lift a brow. “You have a job you can’t wear it to?”

He chuckles at my not-so-subtle probing. “I don’t want to lose it, so I usually put it in my desk for safekeeping.”