Page 46 of Lost and Found

He slides open his closet door to reveal a mini fridge, and I let loose a snort because finally,finallysomething that aligns him with the typical bachelor bro I’d have pegged him to be.

“What? I don’t like having to trek to the kitchen whenever I need some water,” he loud-whispers across the room. Shadows carve out his dimples when he comes back and passes me the bottle.

I drink, and drink, and drink, fairly certain no water has ever been this good. He sets it on his nightstand, half empty by the time I’m done, then slips into the bed, holding himself far enough away that he remains on his own pillow. I reach over to touch his jaw and lightly scratch my nails down the hard knot of his throat. Circle the top of his shoulder with one finger.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his whisper like sandpaper over wood.

I start to nod before I remember he’ll want to hear me. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He retrieves the condom and tears the wrapper with his teeth, holds his cock at the base with one hand, then rolls it on with the other.

He still approaches me carefully, like coming at me too quickly might scare me off. Balancing himself on his side, he thumbs my lower lip and holds my face in one hand like I’m glass, kissing me again. It starts out delicate, the barest brush of our tongues. The tang of me on him is the only remnant of that earlier fever.

Soon enough, he’s coaxing me up again. Lightening his kisses so I’m forced to chase him in the space between. Teasing me, taunting me. I catch on and do the same. Touch my lips to his a fraction before I pull back and flick his tongue with mine. I let him see me toy with one breast and swipe a thumb over my nipple before I reach across the sheets to trace the disk of his, and then he’s closing the distance, following me back onto mypillow and catching my lips in a deep, thorough kiss. Licking into my mouth, a sound rumbling through his frame when my hands sneak down to squeeze his ass and pull the rest of his weight onto me. His breathing goes ragged, my teeth scrape down his jaw when he sucks a kiss into my neck. I drive my legs wider under him, my knees splayed and pressing into the mattress. A sharp gasp when his cock drives up my slit, hot and heavy and overwhelming.

He braces on an arm and dips his head to watch himself slide over me again, his graveled, throaty hum tangling with my high, tight one. The sound we make sends my blood soaring.

He clasps at my hand and lays a kiss to my palm before he flattens it to his chest. Keeps it there when he lines us up and stills.

“Look at me.”

I barely hear him over the sound of my heartbeat again. His eyes stay locked with mine when he nudges inside me to the tip, which is exactly when I slam my eyes shut.

“Bea . . .”

He goes stone-stiff above me. I try to lift myself onto him, but he holds himself away.

“Bea,” he whispers again. “Look at me, baby.” I don’t want to look right now. I want to feel again. Before any other thoughts can worm their way into my head. I’m worried if I look at him, I’ll see the full scope of what we’re doing and guilt will find me somehow. Or I’ll have to face thelackof guilt I feel. With my eyes still closed, I run my hands down his broad rib cage, wanting to bring him closer, bring him into me deeper.

He slides out instead and brings his forehead down to rest on mine.

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” he says with a humorless laugh.

That makes me open my eyes.

“Do what?”

“I’m actually about to do this, aren’t I?” He mutters something unintelligible other thanfuckand something about being canonized.

Is he peptalking himself? What the hell? I knew he had to be a little weird. This was too good to be true. “Si.”

“Oh god,” he groans miserably. “Don’t say my name like that right now, please.” He pushes himself off me and lands face down on the bed.

“We should probably wait until we’re fully sober,” he complains, muffled in the mattress.

I am lucid enough at this point to recognize the good sense in this, especially considering the messy state of my thoughts. “You are . . . probably right,” I say.

“Fine, I’ll negotiate with you,” goes his flat reply.

I blurt a laugh so loud I have to smother it in my palm.

When my head falls to the side to look at him, half of his face hooks into a small smile. “Didn’t expect me to agree so easily?” I ask.

“I just don’t want to be something you regret.”

Never, I think, then mentally recoil. There’s that lack of guilt. But also, there is no logical reason to feel that strongly. We haven’t discussed what this would be beyond tonight. We haven’t discussed anything, really.

“I’m going to be honest.”At least partially, I think. “But don’t let it go to your head, okay?”