Page 126 of Ricardo

I press my lips lightly to her hair.

She shifts.

Her hand flexes against my chest.

“I can move in a minute,” she murmurs.

I look down at her. “Over my dead body.”

“That's exactly what I feel like,” she says.

I let out a quiet chuckle. “I thought you were asleep.”

“No. Just mostly dead, I think.”

Her voice is hoarse but sleepy and satisfied. It does something primitive to me, hearing her like that.

“Just resting your eyes?” I tease.

She tilts her face enough to look up at me. “That sounded judgmental.”

“It was affectionate.”

Her mouth curves, faint and tired. “Your affection sounds a lot like judgment.”

“I am multi-talented.”

“I noticed.”

My hand pauses on her back, and I let out a laugh.

She seems to realize what she said then, because color moves into her cheeks again. Even now. After everything. After I have had my mouth on every intimate part of her. After I have watched her come apart in my arms. She can still blush over a simple admission.

“That's not what I meant,” she said. “I'm too tired to deal with you and your male ego.”

“You should be too tired for arguments as well, but here we are.”

A soft sound escapes her, almost like a laugh, but she lowers her cheek back to my chest.

The silence stretches between us, comfortable at first, then something changes. I have a feeling I know what it is, but I wait for her to come to me.

For a while, neither of us speaks.

The rain keeps falling. The fire breathes heat into the room. Her body grows heavier against mine again, but I know better now than to assume she has drifted off this time. There is something on her mind, and she needs to get it out.

Finally, after a few minutes, she says, “Ricardo?”

“Yes?”

“Was this…”

Her voice falters.

I stroke my hand over her hair. “Was this what?”

She lifts her head, and there is vulnerability in her eyes again.

“Was this what you expected?”