Page 68 of Fluke
I’ve never felt like this after sex before. Cherished. Adored. Truly and thoroughlyfucked. It’s akin to whiplash going from being ravaged to being held so tenderly. It’s confusing and erotic and so mind-blowingly amazing that I can’t imagine ever having anything else now that I know this exists.
He brushes a lock of hair out of my face. “You sure you’re good?”
“Yeah. I need a bathroom, though.”
His brows pinch together, and he adjusts his hold on me. “How would you feel if we went upstairs and took a bath?”
“What? You don’t have to do that. I can go home.”
His smile turns shy. “Stay with me. I only get a week, right?”
Either he’s playing me like a pro or I'm a sucker. Or there could be a third option.
No. It’s way too soon for that. It’s ridiculous to consider I could be falling for him.
I can’t fall for him. That’s not what this is or will be.
“Do you have bubble bath?” I ask, smiling up at him.
“Actually, I do. And I have a giant tub and the fluffiest towels because I’m a laundry master.”
“Ooh, you win. I’ll stay.”
He stands with me in his arms like I don’t weigh a thing.
“I can walk,” I say, laughing.
“I’m aware.”
There’s no point in arguing with him. I might be able to win, but I don’t really want to.
He presses a kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering a moment longer than necessary before he carries me like his treasure to the stairs.
15
PIPPA
“Ishould really go home,” I say, making no effort to move.
Jess hums. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady.
I smile against his bare chest as he nudges me closer. Instead of getting out of his bed, my leg repositions atop his beneath the sheets.
Jess’s bedroom suite takes up one whole half of the upstairs. The other side of the landing hosts two bedrooms with a Jack and Jill bathroom. He said the expansion of his space was yet another project that Moss, and this time Maddox, helped him finish a few years ago. He combined two bedrooms and another shared bathroom into one giant space with a private bathroom and massive closet.
The walls are white with dark wood trim. There is a dresser with a glass bowl and a lamp with a Tiffany-style shade in blues and greens. His bed is unexpected; an old four-post wooden structure facing the windows overlooking the backyard. It sits high and is covered with the softest sheets, marshmallow-like blankets, and fluffy pillows.
He dusts his fingertips down my side, feathering them against my skin.
“How many days did you say we’ll be gone?” he asks, his voice husky.
“I actually have some leeway with that. The point is just to test the premise, and I proposed three- and four-day getaways. But we can really do whatever.”
“I’m up for whatever works best for you.”
Of course, you are. “I was messing around with some ideas last night. Is there anything you particularly like to do?”
“You.”
