Page 125 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

Delina didn’t think so either.

“I know we’ll have to get in the car and drive more today, but…” he tightens his arm around the middle of her back, an almost unconscious motion. “I don’t want to leave this.”

It’s nice, sleepy words, spoken out of some quiet want for contentment, and she gets it. She gets it so strongly that every part of her is almost to tears with the idea of having to leave the bed.

His eyes flicker down to her lips, then back up to her, serious. “May I kiss you?”

She blinks at him.

“Look, I kissed you before you were ready, and—”

She presses herself up to him, kissing him, opening her mouth to him, and he responds with a startled sound, his hand sweeping to her lower back, under her shirt and to the too untouched skin beneath.

A crack sparkles from his fingertips to her skin, and he pulls away.

“That’s new,” Delina breathes, and he smiles at her, heartbreaking and beautiful, before he kisses her again, stronger this time, biting on her lower lip.

It sends a trill down her skin, and she shivers, even though the air inside the apartment is more warm than not, so she pullsup at the hem of his shirt until he leans back long enough to pull it over his head.

He grips her chin, keeping her in place, and her skin tightens once more as she splays her hand over his abs.

He’s still wearing his jeans—he slept in them like an exhausted moron—and she lets her hand go to the button to the fly, raising an eyebrow at him.

He raises his right back, before grinning.

Before she has any real idea of what’s going on, he flips her over, until he’s on top of her, legs bracing hers.

She squeaks in surprise, before he grips her chin again and presses a bruising kiss to her mouth, insistent.

“We’re going to have to be quiet,” he whispers, lips brushing against hers.

Inhaling, she kisses back. He’s usually not this strong, preferring her to take the lead, preferring her to make all the large actions. Making sure she’s in control.

But not this, and it sends another shiver down her back.

Another raised eyebrow at her and his eyes glint, ever so briefly, red.

“What are you doing?” She breathes, and she’s not sure she’s ever seen him quite like this. “Your eyes…”

He doesn’t answer, kissing her again, before pulling back enough to help her pull off her sleep shirt and pressing his lips against her collarbone.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, a soft caress of words, his mouth moving against her skin, his hands sweeping downwards to the hem of her shorts.

It’s all of the sudden so much, and her breath catches in her throat with the sudden need.

Kicking off her shorts, she grabs his hair, twisting her hands in his soft locks until he breathes out, halfway between a sign and a moan, arching the column of his neck.

He’s still wearing far more clothing than she is, and she pushes his jeans down until she can grab his cock, hard and heavy in her hands.

He makes a choked off sound in the back of his throat, and she raises her eyebrow at him.

“I thought you said we have to be quiet,” she whispers, and he grins at her, wide, a spark in his eyes, and before she even knows what’s happening, his hand slides between her thighs.

It’s been too long, and she has to muffle her own noise of need as he presses the palm on his hand against her clit.

He’s always known how to make her scream, and now she can’t.

“I’ve wanted to do this every day,” he whispers, as she squirms in his touch. “Wanted to undress you, to see you beneath me again.”

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