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“Really well.” My forehead wrinkles. “Great, actually.”
He pulls my wayward hair from my face, gently dragging his fingertips over my cheeks. “So I wore you out?”
“Maybe it was the other way around. You were definitely not the first one up this morning.”
I can’t help but smirk over his grin. If I wasn’t so satisfied, I would call it cocky, but the telltale signs of soreness are evidence enough of what that confident man is capable of doing to a woman’s body.
“I stayed up late watching you sleep and listening to see if you were going to talk more.” He nuzzles my nose. “You seem to tell the truth in your sleep.”
“Oh, really?” Now he has me intrigued. And scared.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And did I say anything last night?”
“Hmm…yes.”
“Well, that’s”—I frown—“concerning.”
“I nearly gave in to your demands for an encore performance. You make it very hard to resist when you do that breathy half whisper. But baby, you are going to be sore.”
“What breathy-whisper thing are you talking about?”
“Oh, Graham, you are the sexiest man alive,” he imitates with an airy feminine voice that sounds nothing like me—asleep or awake. “Mount me like a stallion.”
I laugh over his attempt. “Wow, I sound like a bimbo.”
“I can’t describe it. But I’m going to now make it my life’s mission to get you to do this while we are both fully coherent to act on it. Because, if you can do it while you are awake, I won’t be able to stop myself.”
I clear my throat and give my best attempt. “Does it sound like this?” I ask, rasping my voice and lowering my tone.
“Um, no. What you do in your sleep is adorably cute—not creepy and masculine.”
I deepen my voice more. “What I just did was not creepy.”
“I’m not interested in sleeping with an old man with laryngitis, Angie.”
I playfully smack his arm and giggle, basking in the afterglow of the morning sun and the warmth radiating from Graham’s smoldering eyes. I allow my fingers to walk their way down his chest, settling at his waist. I rub at his skin, enjoying the way his muscles ripple under my touch.
“Stop trying to seduce me.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Quit trying to pretend you are innocent. I now know the truth. While I would love nothing more than to take you again, I know you are sore and tender.”
“I don’t feel sore,” I whisper softly. “But I am starting to feel deprived.”
I stare intently at his eyes as his low growl vibrates through his vocal cords. His weight shifts and he tugs me back into the spooning position. His hand grips my top leg and pulls it up and over his hips, leaving easy access to my apex. His cotton T-shirt is little deterrence to his probing fingers, making me realize that the whole use of it was more of an attempt to make me feel comfortable about spending the night together post romp. My folds are pulled apart and the pads of his index and middle finger press into the entrance. My body stiffens at the intrusion, and I let the air I didn’t know I was holding release from my lungs.
“I think I have made my point,” he comments, pulling his hand from between my legs and moving it up to his nose. “But you smell divine. Intoxicating, Angie. You make me so fucking hard with just the thought of being inside you again.”
“Then do it,” I beg, wanting to feel that same explosion that I felt just hours ago. “I want you, Graham. My body wants you.”
“Not at the expense of tearing you up. Hush, quit trying to tempt me, my little minx. We will have plenty of time to explore each other more once you aren’t so puffy and inflamed.”
I watch as he turns to reach into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a little container of ointment.
“This will help you heal better,” he explains at my unspoken question, “and be ready for me faster.” He twists off the lid and presses two clean fingers into the tub to gather a small amount of gel.
