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I shake my head, and it’s true. “Not anymore.”
When she rocks up onto her toes, I go still as a statue. Afraid to spook her; afraid I’m reading this wrong. Justafraid.But Jessica grips my shoulders and levers herself up; she tugs on my shirt until I lean down a few inches to help.
Her lips are cold. They taste like salt and rain and the coffee I brewed her, and when her hot little tongue brushes against mine, I let loose a tortured groan.
Fuck.
My hand spreads over her back, plastering her close, never mind the swell of my belly. The other plunges into her wet hair, rubbing at her scalp and tilting her head back so I can lick deeper into her mouth. So I can kiss her harder. So I canfeast.
And I thought this walkway was the highest place I could climb, but here I am, spiraling up toward the clouds. Here I am, rubbing this hot little angel against my front, the buttons of my shirt catching against her harness straps.
“Jessica.” That’s the only word left in my brain. Her name. My bride. “Jessica.”
She whimpers and kisses me again, deep and long, only pulling back to nibble on my bottom lip. I’ve never been touched like this, never beenwantedlike this, and I don’t know what to do with it. Can’t think straight. Can’t do anything except hold her and hope for more.
It’s over too soon. I trail her back inside with uneven steps, my heart slamming against my rib cage.
It happened, though. It definitely happened.
And I’ll remember that kiss on my deathbed.
Jessica
Now that I’ve kissed Murray, I don’t want to stop. Everything about him is addictive, drawing me back in until I’m orbiting his bulk like a moon. He’s so big and warm and gruff and hairy. So strong, with such a deep voice.
And he’sstern, bossing me around and wrapping me in a giant towel after the tower. Making sure I get warm and dry by the living room fire, a spare set of clothes from my bag waiting on the armchair.
I’ve never been cared for like this, not even when I was a little girl.
It’s intoxicating.
“Hold still.” Murray plucks the glasses off my nose, setting them aside so he can rub the towel over my hair. It’s kind of clumsy, and I splutter with laughter as he scrubs at my head, stray locks of damp hair sticking to my mouth.
“Let me out!” My words are muffled by the fabric. When Murray lowers the towel, he’s smiling again. The sight steals my breath, makes me go all gooey inside, but I try not to stare from under my rat’s nest hair. Because whenever he catches me looking, that smile drops away.
“You’re a wriggler.”
“And you’re a tyrant.”
We grin at each other, the fire popping in the hearth beside us, and surely it can’t be this simple, can it? No one ever got so lucky.
The flames crackle and dance, their light flickering over the floorboards. The wind moans outside the stone walls, and rain rattles the windows in their frames. I shiver against my cold, damp clothes.
“It’s rough out there.”
Murray grunts.
He’s staring at me with open hunger, mismatched eyes roaming up and down my soaked body. And as he takes me in, his chest heaves harder and harder, until it’s like he’s gulping for air, his pulse thrumming in his thick throat.
He wants me.
I squeeze my thighs together, all slippery and achy in between. Oh god, I want him too.
“Murray—”
“I’ll cook dinner.” I blink at the interruption, but now that he’s said it, Iampretty hungry. My stomach’s hollow and rumbling, twisting in on itself. “Want to help?” he asks. He’s already backing away, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll leave you to change your clothes first.”
“Sure.” I watch him go with a sinking feeling, that big head and shoulders ducking through the doorway, and it’s like he can’t get away from me fast enough. Like he’s a criminal fleeing the scene.
