Page 64 of Checking It Twice
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.
The raw honesty in his voice, the way his whole body reacts to my touch, sparks something fierce and possessive in my chest.This is Mitchell Drake completely undone—and I’m the one doing it to him.
His hips buck involuntarily when I find the right rhythm, and a low groan pours out of him that sends heat pooling between my thighs all over again.
“Is this okay?” I whisper.
“More than okay,” he manages, his voice rough with need. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”
His hand continues moving beneath the lace of my panties, and his mouth hovers on mine.
“Damn,” he groans. “That’s it,” he murmurs when I arch beneath him. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
With patient hands and a wicked mouth, he sends me right to the edge.
When I finally shatter beneath his touch, I bite his shoulder to muffle the sound, and he holds me through it like I’m something precious, something worth protecting.
I kiss him, and my hand moves faster, gripping him with each stroke, but he’s already there, my name falling from his lips as he makes a rather impressive mess.
I realize with startling clarity that we’ve crossed a line we can never uncross.
The question is whether either of us wants to.
Chapter Twenty-Five
New Territory
Clare
I wake up wrapped around Mitchell like he’s my personal space heater, and for once, I don’t immediately panic about professional boundaries or what this means for our future working relationship.
Last night was perfect. Not perfect in some fairy tale way, but perfect in the way that matters—raw, honest, and so good I’m still feeling aftershocks when I shift against him.
His arm tightens around my waist, and I realize he’s been awake longer than I have, probably lying here thinking the same dangerous thoughts I am.
“Morning,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning yourself.”
I expect awkwardness. Some version of the walk of shame, even though we’re still in the same bed where it happened. But there’s none of that careful distance people usually put up after crossing lines they can’t uncross.
Instead, there’s this easy intimacy that feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“Sleep okay?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Eventually.” I tilt my head to look at him, taking in the stubble and the way his hair sticks up in several different directions. Helooks thoroughly debauched, and I’m probably responsible for at least half of it. “You?”
“Best I’ve slept in months.”
The admission is quiet, honest in a way that makes warmth spread through my chest. Because this isn’t just about sex or physical attraction. This is about feeling safe enough to let your guard down completely.
“Good,” I say, and mean it.
Downstairs, Karen has already launched into full Christmas Eve mode. The kitchen smells like cinnamon rolls and coffee strong enough to wake the dead, and there’s Christmas music playing from the old radio on the counter.
It’s honestly adorable.
Mitch appears beside me at the coffee pot before I’ve even finished pouring my first cup, adding cream and sugar in exactly the proportions I like without asking.
