“I can’t do the thing I want to do most.” I hung her coat by the door, then took my own off.
“Oh, you mean make lasagna from scratch?”
I snorted. “Right. Among other things.”
“I’d imagine eating lasagna would be on the list of prohibited activities,” she mused, wandering into the other room. She flopped onto a couch in the living area, looking up at me with mischief in her eyes. “Along with penetration and orgasm.”
“Mmm.” I stood over her, enjoying the view of her splayed across the couch. She had no bad angles. Or maybe I just loved looking at her too much. “It’s hot when you use clinical terms.”
“Erection,” she countered.
“Go on.”
“Angioplasty.”
I burst into laughter. “That’s where ‘erection’ leads to in your mind?”
“I don’t play by your rules.”
I slipped into the spot next to her, pulling her into my arms. She fit like a puzzle piece I hadn’t realized was missing. “That’s obvious. But I think I like your rules better.”
I drifted my fingertips over the exposed skin of her chest, down under the collar of her loose sweatshirt. One hand settled in the valley between her breasts, and my other hand drifted over the soft fabric of her clothes, creeping ever closer to her hips.
When my fingers danced at the waist of her leggings, she tensed. I nuzzled the side of her head.
“You really don’t have a problem going straight for the gold, do you?” she murmured.
“Why waste my time with anything less than gold?” My fingertips crested the waistline of her panties, pushing into a damp heat that sent jolts through my body. “I like watching you get off.”
She shivered in my arms, and I didn’t waste any time. I stroked her swollen clit through the silky fabric of her panties, alternating between slow circles and rough pinches. She arched and groaned in my arms. I stuffed my hand into her panties, mesmerized by the play of emotions on her face. I slipped my other hand into her bra, cupping that full breast, tweaking her nipple in time with my strokes. I slipped my middle finger inside her, and then another, deep into that tight, silky heat. I pumped my fingers in and out, loving the slosh of her fluids, the way she writhed in my arms.
“Jesus, Hawk,” she moaned, “you’re too fucking good at this.”
I breathed into her ear, then nibbled on her earlobe. Her movements went jerky, breath coming out in desperate pants. She moaned low, throaty and erotic, and then her body went rigid. Her pussy contracted around my fingers, a rush of moisture coating me. Her mouth parted, eyes pinched shut, as she came and came and came.
In the aftermath, she clung to my forearm, breathing heavily.
“That was hot,” I whispered, still lazily stroking her clit over her panties.
“I didn’t realize that was the first thing on the list,” she breathed.
I buried my face in her hair, my cock throbbing into her low back. That would get attention another day. Slow and deliberate sex with her, as a post-fight celebration, seemed the best prize I could give myself. “It’s on every day’s checklist.”
“You’re a dream,” she said. “How can I say no to that?”
I smiled, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her neck. “You’re not supposed to.”