Page 59 of Free

Justin is wrapped around me, his knee between my thighs and his arm under the pillow I’ve claimed as my own. But I can tell from the way he breathes and the drowsy touch of his body against mine that he’s been awake for a while. Remi is in California with Deb wining and dining potential donors, and without his presence, in the bed, Justin and I have ended up sleeping like starfishes—spread out from corner to corner. Justin must have awoken, left the bed, and crawled back in beside me when he returned.

Then I feel his thumb strumming lightly against my nipple.

Ah.

So that’s what woke me up.

I sigh into his gentle contact, settling myself against him. His cock is thick against my backside, and his hips start to thrust lazily against my ass. I sink back into the mattress, content to let him touch me.

It’s too much effort to keep my eyes open anyway.

It’s nowhere near time for my alarm to go off, and I am positively exhausted. Whoever said that the fatigue goes away at the end of the first trimester was a little liar, liar face.

“We’re supposed to be sleeping,” I mumble, trying to rouse myself to turn and face him. I don’t even have the energy to do that.

“Shhhh,” he says against my ear. “I am asleep. So are you.”

Oh.

That’s good.

Because I really don’t think I have the coordination for whatever he has in mind.

My hair is braided back or was before bed. By now, it’s only half contained, I’m sure. But Justin tucks my plait over my shoulder, and his lips find my throat. He’s soft and slow and lazy in his explorations.

He sucks my earlobe between his teeth, and I never thought I’d like that, but I do, and yes, please, thank you very much, please do that some more. His face is scratchy from lack of shaving, and it’s a pleasure-pain sort of situation when his lips trail over my shoulder and his chin scrapes against the sensitive flesh.

This may be the best way to wake up ever.

Another sigh slips from my lips as his fingers circle my nipple.

“I love it when you make that sound.”

And I love everything he does to make that sound happen.

His hand slides from my breast, and he cups my belly in his hand before he dips his fingers into my panties.

“I don’t understand how you’re always so wet,” he whispers into the skin of my neck.

Umm, because we’re always doing this.

Or thinking about it.

Or remembering it from the night before. And you’re always walking being so, so...so Justin, and yes, I bet that makes all the girls wet. Plus, let's not forget that we normally share this bed with a six foot two gorgeous, broody sex machine who treats sucking cock like it’s America's favorite pastime, and whowouldn'tget wet watching that all night long.

“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping?” I say instead.

His fingers glide between my folds, rubbing in soft circles over my clit. His pace is so sedate, it’s driving me insane.

“I am. This whole thing has been a dream.”

That’s just not fair. He says stuff like that all the time, and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s like a walking seduction. Frankly, it's impressive Remi held out against Justin for as long as he did. The arm that was under the pillow pops out around my neck, and that hand begins to massage my breasts, in counterpoint to the one that’s down my panties.

It’s lovely.

“Can I...?”

He leaves the question hanging. But I’ve shared a bed with this man long enough to have a pretty clear idea of what he has in mind. A touch here and a bounce there until the entire picture sinks into the depth of our connection.

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