Page 108 of Savage Hearts
His laugh is low and pleased. “I’m in bed with you because it’s comfortable. Because I like lying next to you. Because I want to be here.”
Damn, he smells good. And he feels good, so warm and strong.
And he’s hard. Everywhere.
He runs his thumb gently along my scar. “How’s your pain today?”
“Not as stabby. More like a dull ache.”
“Did you take your meds last night before you went to sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” After a pause, he says in a throaty voice, “Are you doing that deliberately?”
I blurt, “I can’t help it if I’m shaking!”
“It’s more like quivering. Shivering, all over.”
“If you’d stop using that tone, I’d be fine!”
“What tone?”
“That sex tone!”
He says something in Russian that sounds filthy, then chuckles when my shivering grows worse.
I try to get up, but he throws his leg over mine and drags me back against him, rolling me over so my stomach is pressed to his. I tuck my head under his chin and hide my face in his chest as he laughs at me.
Stroking his hand up and down my spine, he gives me time to calm down before pressing a kiss to my neck and making me hyperventilate all over again.
He murmurs, “Why are you so skittish? I said I wasn’t going to fuck you.”
“It’s your beard.”
“What?”
“Your beard.”
He sounds confused. “What about it?”
“It tickles.”
He goes from confused to blistering-hot sex god in half a second, saying gruffly, “And you’d like to feel that tickle between your thighs, wouldn’t you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you squeezing your legs together?”
“I’m not.”
His laugh is slightly breathless, but extremely pleased. “Oh, yes, you are, baby.”
“I really hate it when you’re smug.”
Shaking with silent laughter, he presses his lips to my shoulder, nosing aside the neckline of my shirt to do it, making sure to drag his beard lightly across my skin. He reaches down, takes a handful of my ass, and squeezes.
Then he makes the most purely masculine sound I’ve ever heard, a chest-deep groan of pleasure.
