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Shewas perfect.
Shouting out my climax while she held me in her embrace so tightly that I knew she didn’t want to let go of me, I came for the second time in as many days in my pants. If this was all we had together for the rest of my days on this planet, I’d take it because being with her like this was better than a thousand throw-away fucks which was what my sex life had amounted to in the past.
When I sank onto her, panting, the pleasure so goddamn intense that it was exhausting, I twisted us onto our sides again, one leg hooked over the other to stay tangled between the sheets.
I relaxed into the soft down and so did she, knowing that sleep was coming and embracing the newly budded trust that had formed between us.
Then, when I was an inch away from sleep, she whispered, “If I throw you out of bed, don’t be offended.”
The ramifications of ‘why’ made my eyes pop open, but around a yawn, I muttered, “It’s worth being tossed out of bed to fall asleep with you in it.”
Her arms clung to me, tightening as she nodded against my chest.
Shit would never get boring with Star around.
37
STAR
Conor’s handremained glued to mine from the second we left the car to the moment we entered the old town of Dubrovnik. I knew why—he thought I might run off.
It was cute, really. And I wasn’t a woman built for cute. But Conor had a way of worming through my defenses. Earlier on had proven that. He was slippery and sly and just that perfect amount of charming to make me putty for him.
So, I let him hold my hand. Let him tug me close. He’d already given me more than he knew, so that was the least I could offer back.
Having visited the city before, its beauty didn’t come as much of a surprise to me, but Conor gaped at the slim streets, peering around corners while trying to hide the fact that he was seeking outGame of Thronesfilming locations from me.
My lips twitched every time he decided he just ‘needed’ a selfie at some random place.
A quick panoramic picture of what I knew from his awed mutterings were Blackwater Bay and the harbor at Kings Landing, followed up by a shot of the Jesuit staircase when we wandered deeper into the heart of the city.
When he tried not to pose outside The Rector’s Palace, AKA, Qarth, I told him, “You’d make a terrible spy.”
He arched a brow at me. “Do you know how often I get to leave the US?”
His little problem with the NSA made his journey to find me even more… God help me, romantic.
Disgusted by the notion that I was turningflowery, I quipped, “Rarely by the looks of it. You’re being a total tourist. It’s bad for my rep.”
It didn’t stop me from letting him lead me around because he got a kick out of it, though, and his smile was hot enough to make up for the frigid temperatures.
A small street market sold preserved orange peel, which was both bitter and sweet on my tongue and figgy bars that were impossible to chew but tasted damn good.
As we meandered through the labyrinthine streets, it actually hit me that this was the first time I was in a city, somewhere in Europe, without a mission on my mind.
It was fitting, I guessed, that not even today I’d be spared bloodshed.
We picked up pizza from one of the many take-out joints and chowed down on that as we continued Conor’s exploration. I put my foot down about walking around the old town walls, mostly because I didn’t feel like making myself a target—just because I wasn’t on a mission didn’t mean people wouldn’t recognize me and mistake my purpose in being here—and he stopped arguing when I pointed that out.
He blinked at me. Slowly. Then shook his head.
That was his reaction.
It was… visceral.
At first, I thought he was disappointed, but then I saw his tense jaw and mistook it for anger. It wasn’t my job to soothe his temper so I ignored him for a while and carried on eating the slice of pizza in my hand, then it registered.
Conor wasn’t normal.
