Page 65 of Justice for Francesca

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You would prefer another position? I’m full of options.”

“You’re full of it all right,” she teased. Pretending to think about it, she narrowed her eyes at him. “I guess it depends. What did you have in mind?”

“Turn around,” he whispered, “and lie on your stomach.”

Without hesitation, she swung her body one hundred eighty degrees and lay down. “I’m getting yet another sense of déjà vu.”

“Trust me.” As she moved, Tripoli rose on his knees, then covered her body with his by pressing a string of kisses up the back of her thigh, her ass cheek, the small of her back, and each of her vertebrae until he reached the nape of her neck. Brushing her hair out of the way, the kiss he placed there lingered. He reached for the bedside table drawer.

Picking up her head, Francesca looked over her shoulder at him. “What are you doing?”

“Just grabbing a condom.”

“I think that horse is already out of the barn, as the saying goes. Besides, I know you’d never put me at risk. I’m not sure of a lot of things in this world, but I am one hundred percent sure of that. Besides, I want to feel you inside me. No barriers, Ethan.”

And there it was. She was letting him inside more than just her body. She was letting him into her mind. Her heart. Her soul. “I love you, Francesca,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’ll never let you down.”

“I know.”

Trying to take some of his weight off her, he propped his upper half on his forearms on either side of her shoulders. Another kiss to the back of her neck. A press of his lips, combined with a flick of his tongue, and then gentle suction where her neck met her shoulder. He leaned farther forward to catch her lips with his, their tongues chasing back and forth within each other’s mouths.

It felt like his cock grew impossibly harder against her, his hips naturally rocking against the valley between her cheeks. He threaded his fingers with hers on either side of her head. Each time the root of his shaft topped out at the small of her back, their hands naturally squeezed together. He heard her issue a breathy moan every time he retreated, her hips rising off the mattress as if to chase his.

“Spread your legs for me, Francesca.”

Without question, she shifted, and he nestled lower, the tip of his cock at her entrance. He was so hard he was able to push in without guiding himself. When he was buried as deep as he could go, he whispered in her ear, “Tilt your hips just a bit, sweetheart.”

Francesca complied, gaining him another half inch or so inside her slick channel. Her body was vibrating beneath him, but he refused to move. “Feel me, Francesca. This is us. Just us. This is what matters. This means everything.”

“Just us,” she agreed.

With her admission, he began to move. Slow, deliberate strokes stoked the fire between them, but he never sped up.

“Ethan, more, please,” she begged.

“Always more, sweetheart.” Without breaking contact, he brought her hands down to her hips, then slid their joined hands underneath her for leverage so that he could kneel on the bed, bringing her up with him. Legs astride his thighs, hands still joined, his arms wrapped around her waist, and his mouth to her ear, he urged her on. “Move on me, Francesca. Match me. Savor it. I’ve got you.”

Despite giving her the control, he was determined to bring her to orgasm at his own pace. He used the strength in his arms to keep her from speeding up. When she lowered against him, his hips pushed up and forward. When she rose up, he settled his weight back on his heels. Over and over, they moved together.

“So hot.” He rubbed his nose against the side of her head. “You were never an ice queen. You were always fire trapped in ice. Knew you would be like this. You lit up all the dark corners the day we met and warmed me every time we were together. When you left me, you took all your light and fire with you. So glad you brought it back into my life, no matter why it happened. Love you.”

With a final stroke up, Tripoli felt his body let go inside of hers, triggering her walls to squeeze him and causing her to shiver with tremors.

“Ethan!”

“That’s it,” he groaned against her shoulder. “Let go. Feel how we burn together. So fucking hot.”

She cried out as he continued to stroke her channel through the aftershocks. “Love you, Ethan.”

He worked to keep the sigh of relief from being audible, but it didn’t matter. She felt it anyway. Her hands squeezed his where they were still wrapped around her waist. “Were you really that worried?”

“No. Not really. Just glad to hear you say it.”

She fellasleep for a few more hours, one leg hitched over his hip, her hands splayed against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Tripoli lay awake, one hand absently stroking her hair, his other hand brushing gently along the small of her back. He had no doubts this was where she belonged.

He watched the sunrise, his brain working through their conversation earlier regarding her questioning her job. He’d talked about her remaining with the FBI, but now he wondered if she hadn’t been hinting at a much more drastic change in employment and leaving the bureau altogether.

Exhausted from her wound still, the long day of investigation into Tilly’s murder scene, and the emotional reveals during their time together and into this morning, even the soft chirp of Tripoli’s phone didn’t wake her. Careful not to disturb her as best he could, he rolled one shoulder to reach for his phone. He’d forgotten to remove it from his pocket earlier, and he had to completely exit the bed and go to the bathroom to retrieve it. She merely rolled onto her other side in her sleep.

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