Page 95 of The Clinch
“Okay?” I manage.
“Yes,” she breathes.
I move slow at first, letting her adjust, watching her face. The way her eyes flutter closed. The way her mouth parts. The way she digs into my shoulders like she’s anchoring herself.
Then it hits me—the trust this takes. After everything she went through.
Choosing this. Me.
Us.
She rocks her hips, and everything inside me ignites.
“Liz—”
“Ohhh,” she cries out, her fingers clawing at the sheets, her body stretching to take me, so fucking tight and hot and perfect. “More,” she pants. “Please, Leo.”
I give her what she’s asking for. Give her everything. Hard. Fast. Her body rises to meet mine, breath coming in gasps, chanting my name like a prayer.
The world narrows to just this—just us—the way she feels, the sound of her voice.
She falls apart with a broken cry, clamping around me, pulling me over the edge with her. I groan, burying myself deep, my release hitting in violent pulses. She whimpers, trembling as I empty myself into her.
I fold over her and stay there, stunned. She’s boneless beneath me, skin slick with sweat.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Her lips find mine in a slow, deep kiss, lazy and satisfied.
“Goddamnit,” she murmurs. “That was?—”
“Yeah,” I agree, voice rough.
We stay tangled up in the quiet.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Mm-hm. You?”
“Yeah.” I press my forehead to hers. “Better than okay.”
Her fingers trace patterns on my back. Slow. Claiming. The wings on her thigh pressed against my hip.
Still. Not moving.
I keep my hand where it is and don’t say a word about it.
24
CLEAN HIT (LEO)
The weight of her body against mine is perfect. Warm curves molded to my chest, her skin still flushed from last night. She’s half draped over me, one leg hitched over my thigh, breath slow and even. My hand rests between her shoulder blades, fingers splayed. I’m holding still.
Usually she’s up before five, lacing her shoes, getting her sprints in before the ER madness swallows her.
But this morning, she didn’t run.
When we finally got back to Brooklyn last night, spent from the day in her bed, the streets were damp from an earlier summer storm.
