Page 121 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Maybe another day I would tell her we should wait, tell her we don’t need to do this…

But I want this. And so does she.

And we’re fucking living.

I kiss her and touch her, stroke her and hold her, and only when she’s ready again, making those sexy little moans in the back of her throat as she arches against me, do I part her legs and slide home.

We both groan at the fit, tight and slick and hot and fucking perfect.

“Now,” she whispers. “Please, Thorn.”

Then we’re moving in tandem, our bodies in perfect sync as we manuever through a dance that’s beautiful as the ones we shared beneath the lanterns at the ball tonight.

It’s lazy, a slow loving in every sense of the word, and when her orgasm rises up and draws her under, I’m right there with her, being coaxed into pleasure so all-encompassing it sends my strokes wild, my vision hazy, my body limp as I collapse on top of her.

“Holy shit,” she whispers long moments later, our breaths finally slowing, my body finally settling back down to Earth.

“You can say that again,” I murmur, rolling to the side so I don’t crush her.

“Or,” she says quietly, nudging me to my back and clambering on top of me, “we can do that again.”

I grin.

And then her hands start moving.

And then my grin becomes a groan.

Thirty-Six

River

I don’t know what time I fall asleep after the round two extravaganza that left us both limp and sated, and for my part anyway, practically comatose.

But it feels like only minutes later that I hear the knock.

Groaning, I roll to my side, burrowing into Thorn’s chest, heart squeezing when his arms immediately tighten around me, as I start to allow sleep to draw me under again.

Knock. Knock. Knock!

My eyes fly open, sleep suddenly very far away as I realize exactly how close that knock is.

I sit up. And gasp.

Thorn is on his feet a second later, his body between mine and the intruder.

“What the fuck, Angela?” he growls.

I relax enough to suck in a breath, to realize the danger isn’t as grave as I thought…except that relief only lasts a heartbeat.

Because then I remember the last time Angela snuck into an apartment, she held Briar at gunpoint.

I throw back the covers and stand, bringing the sheet with me because…

Neither of us had bothered to dress after round two.

“Stay there,” Thorn orders as I move, proving he’s got eyes in the back of his head.

“No,” I say sharply, ignoring him—and those hidden eyes—as I move to his side.