Page 81 of Hearts on the Mend

His eyes warm, widening before his mouth melts into a smile. “That’s my girl.”

I blow out a breath, then bury my head against his shoulder, fighting back a grin.

“Hey.” He rubs his hands across my sides, drawing my attention back to him. “This is good, isn’t it?”

“He’ll fight me, but I’m not going to lose Ruby. He’s not going to take her away from me just to hurt me. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry I pulled away and shut you out. Sorry I couldn’t even figure out how to bring it up without…” A hot blush bites my cheeks. “Well, I hope you don’t think I was trying to manipulate you or something. I just want things to be better between us, and I knew…”

“That I’m fucking hopeless around you.”

“I was going to say it in a nicer way,” I tease.

“Can’t deny it.”

“Or won’t?”

“Cassie Whitman, you reach your hand down a little farther, you’ll see you already have me by the fucking balls. Have since the night we met.”

“Very romantic. You could make a killing as a poet.”

“I just told you I love you.”

The room quiets again, and a soft, hushed sigh pulls from my throat. “You weren’t supposed to love me. We weren’t supposed to be anything more than that night in the hotel.”

“Second-best fucking night of my life.”

“Second?”

“I prefer this one, right now.”

“So you are romantic?”

He growls, pushing up enough to claim my lips with his mouth in a greedy kiss. “You’ll get it one day.”

I should ask more, but it all falls away to us in my bed, his body warm against mine. God, he’s such a good kisser. I chase his movements, sighing when he nibbles the corner of my bottom lip to let him in. I open my mouth wider, and his tongue strokes mine. Our kiss falls from desperate to languid, and it takes his hand cupping my ass for me to realize I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been making out.

“Love kissing you,” he says, tucking some hair behind my ear. “Love this.” He traces the stars against my collarbone, then presses his lips to the crescent moon on the curve of my shoulder. Nolan pushes up and rests against the back of the headboard as I straddle his lap. His fingers trail lower, skimming over the sun inked down my sternum, lower still over my stomach covered in stretch marks and that stubborn shelf left over from my C-section.

I pause his hand. It’s not as if we haven’t explored one another before, but this feels different. The light in his eyes is equally sad and hopeful, as if he’s cataloging the tiny details that make me me.

“I love this scar,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “and what it brought me.”

“Hey.” I grip his hand and pull it away from my skin, drawing it up to my mouth. I press a kiss against the sparrow tattoos on the back of his hand. “Hey.” I rest my forehead against his, breathing him in, trying to make sense of the tangle of feelings inside me. “You love me?”

A hot burst of air leaves his lips. “Fuck, Cassie. Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters. It’s you and me and Ruby now. And tonight?” I kiss his shoulder, then tip his face up to meet mine. I rake my hands through his hair and adjust my hips, his hard length settled between my thighs. “We’re going to live in the right now. What do you feel?”

It’s his whimper then that starts snapping my control. He wraps his hand in my hair and tugs as I rock my hips, dragging my wetness over him. My pulse thunders between my thighs.

“I love your fucking gorgeous pussy too.”

“What do you feel?” I ask again, this time deliberately slowing my movements.

“Your soft hair in my fist, your warm wetness over my cock, your fingertips scraping against my scalp.”

“That’s right.” I bump my finger under his chin, drawing his eyes up to mine. “Now tell me what you see.”

“Cassie,” he pleads. “You’re going to fucking kill me if I can’t get inside you right now.”