Page 72 of Tattered Edges

My sex was still fluttering when Rory groaned, bucked his hips up, forcing me high enough for him to pull out as he came, spilling his release on both of us.

I collapsed onto the bed beside him, my shoulder pressed against his, and then reached for his hand. He laced his fingers between mine, and for a few minutes, we just laid there as we tried to catch our breath.

After a while, he lifted our hands, kissing the back of mine before he mumbled, “Be right back.” He then let me go, disappearing into the bathroom to clean himself up. He came back with a warm damp cloth for me, too. As I made use of it, he stretched out in the space beside me.

“The next time we have sex, it’ll be after a proper date,” he stated as soon as I was finished. “Twice now, we’ve gone at each other after you’ve experienced some sort of emotional distress. If it happens again, I’ll be forced to question if I’ve somehow become a sort of support animal.”

“What?” I laughed, turning to see his face. “Stop it. That’s not true.”

He flashed me a half smile as he asked, “Which part?”

“Either,” I insisted.

“Sawyer, last night you had a scare, and not too long ago you were crying.”

I frowned and playfully retorted, “Bycryingdo you mean moaning? Your name, over and over?”

“Don’t be a smartarse, I mean it,” he chuckled.

I couldn’t hold my frown any longer, the sight of his smile eliciting mine.

Sobering a little, he reached for my hand and added, “It’s been on my mind—this—us. If we’re going to do it, we should give it a proper go.”

I gave his fingers a squeeze.

“I’d like that. Very much.”

“Good.”

I let go of his hand and rolled onto my side, propping my head up with my fist as I asked, “What exactly do you mean by aproper date?”

“Dinner, at least.”

I grazed my teeth across my bottom lip as I dragged my gaze down his body and then up again. While I was free for dinner the following night, I knew he would be at the pub until closing time. The soonest we’d both be free was Monday, after I closed the shop.

“Okay, hear me out—if we did it your way, and we went to dinner Monday night, that would mean no sex for the next forty-eight hours.”

Scowling up at me, he muttered, “Is that what I said?”

“Mmmhmm,” I hummed, amused.

“Blimey.”

My grin was back.

I touched my forehead to his as I murmured, “I love it when you do that.”

“Do what?” he asked softly, reaching up to sweep a bit of hair behind my ear.

I shivered pleasantly at his gesture.

“Curse like a Brit.”

“Iama Brit.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” I assured him before touching my lips to his.

One kiss turned into two, which turned into another naked make-out session, which resulted in Rory mumbling into my mouth, “I’d like to issue an amendment to my earlier statement.”

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