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She lifted her hips, positioned herself just right, then sank down hard on top of him.

The skin to skin. Heat to heat. Wetness covering them both.

Then their hips were moving.

It wasn’t frantic like their kiss had been. This was certain.

Every touch felt like proof. Every kiss like a promise.

They moved in rhythm, unhurried but intense, building slowly until neither of them could pretend they weren’t right at the edge.

Her eyes were locked on his. His were reading everything inside of her.

Her body was lifting and lowering. Riding him hard and steady.

Stable, but in the best way.

She was building. He was too.

Her breath was coming in short gasps with each stroke of him inside her.

But she was doing all the work and he was letting her.

He was watching her make love to him.

Letting her have that control.

Not letting one ounce of it bother him he was handing over the reins.

And that was what she needed also.

To feel confident enough in him. In them. That no one worried their pride was being stepped on.

“I love you,” she said again, her voice laced with arousal. The kind that was riding to the top, just waiting for the moment, then would blow.

“I know,” he whispered back. “I love you too.”

That was what undid her.

The rest came in a rush of heat and breath and whispered names, their bodies fitting together like they’d been built to find each other again.

Her eyes went to the ceiling, her back arched, she shouted out his name while he held her hips in place and pounded up into her.

As if saying it was his turn now to show her what he needed to.

And she took it. Every last ounce he had to give, she accepted it knowing that maybe they finally found what they’d both been waiting for.

29

KIND OF MESS

The phone rang on his desk more than a week later. He picked it up without looking. “Detective Ryder.”

“Colson. It’s Sue in the front. There is a woman here asking to see you.”

“Did she give her name?” he asked.

“No. She won’t. She said she’s not leaving until she talks to you.”