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She rocks against me, hissing and breathing, clenching and bringing me to the brink.
Once she’s come, once I am sure that she’s taken care of and she’s come down from the edge, I pull out of her and stroke my shaft.
Hannah squirms off the edge of the bed and onto the throw rug. She kneels, tucking her hands between her thighs, and opens her mouth, tipping her head back to accept what I’ve got for her.
“Fuck, Princess. You are so fucking—” I’m transported, in fucking ecstasy as I let loose on her lips, her greedy little tongue, her face.
She closes her eyes and lets out a tiny moan, squirming on the spot.
After, I rush to the guest bathroom and come back with a wet towel. I clean her face, carefully, and then help her up.
“That was amazing,” she whispers. “It’s kind of weird, but I’ve always wanted to do that.”
We get dressed, and I can’t keep my eyes off her. She drives me to heights I’ve never experienced before, not just when I’m inside her, but in conversation. When she smiles or moves.
“I’m going to wash up,” she says, and heads for the bathroom, taking that ruined towel with her. I wait until she’s done then take my turn cleaning up.
She’s waiting for me on the bed when I exit the bathroom, and I head over to her, lift her into my arms, and kiss her.
I love you, Hannah.
I want to say it, but I don’t. I can’t.
I can’t hold her back, but I also can’t deal with the thought of her in harm’s way or out of sight. And the idea that any man might put their hands on her, or feel anything like the way I do about her, makes my palms sweat, fists clench.
“Are you okay?” Hannah asks, rising onto tiptoe so she can kiss me.
I nod, but keep my silence.
As long as you’re with me, I’m happy.
Thirty-Seven
HANNAH
“Are you ever coming back?” I ask, pressing my phone to my ear as I start up the stairs to my apartment. “It’s been over a month. Just how much money does my brother have that he’s not telling me about?”
“Listen, when it’s right, it’s right,” Marci says. “But we should be home within a couple of days.” She lowers her voice. “Jesse’s feeling very threatened.”
“Threatened?” I frown.
“Mr. Skitters appears to be in love with June,” Marci whispers. “It’s confirmed. Every time we have a video chat with him, he’s always purring in June’s lap or staring up at her in adoration.”
“Bullshit,” Jesse shouts in the background. “He’s my cat.”
“Our cat, Taylor,” Marci says.
“Fine. Our cat. But mostly my cat. He loves me. Marci, you think he loves me, right?”
“I’ve never heard him this insecure,” I say. “And that includes the whole running for sheriff debacle.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Marci replies, with a giggle.
“What did she say?” Jesse calls.
“Nothing, nothing. Just girl talk. Speaking of girl talk, Han, what is going on with you and Savage?” she asks. “When last we texted, there was something, uh, brewing in the coffee pot, if you know what I mean.”
“Is that a diner metaphor for sex?” I ask.
