Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,78

upset our unspoken truce. Frankly, it was driving me crazy. He was more than just my partner—he was my best friend. I needed that easy camaraderie between us like I needed air.

I knew better than to rush him, though. Just because I wanted things to get back to normal didn’t mean he was ready. In the meantime, I’d settle for a few moments of closeness in the mornings. Half asleep, he was sweet and pliable, and didn’t immediately remember that he was still annoyed with me.

I traced the inked outline of the ace of spades on his forearm, the skin soft and warm under my fingertips. He shivered a little when I got to the middle of the tattoo, and my finger stuttered to a stop. I glanced over my shoulder again, only to find his eyes wide open. He didn’t look sleepy at all.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” I said.

“You didn’t.” His voice was husky with sleep and… maybe something else?

I turned back around, lying my head on the pillow. I could feel him breathing on the nape of my neck, disturbing the little hairs there, and it was my turn to shiver. His fingers played with the ties on my sleep pants like he was debating with himself internally.

He brushed against my dick, and I pushed my ass back at him again, almost helplessly. He made a growling noise, low in his throat, and I congratulated myself on waking his inner animal with minimal effort. “Sorry,” I said breathlessly.

I wasn’t sorry at all. I was, however, fully aware I was trouncing all over our unspoken cease-fire. I was pretty sure there was no sex during a cease-fire. Right?

Apparently, there was. His usually dexterous fingers were clumsy as he went from toying with the ties of my pants to actively trying to undo them. I struggled to catch up mentally, lying there passively, like a child who hadn’t quite mastered the art of buttons and zippers yet. After a few seconds, my brain came online, and I pushed his hand out of the way to deal with the ties myself.

The moment they came loose, he took over again, pushing my pants down around my thighs. I groaned lowly as he surged between my cheeks, his cock thick and weighty. Instinctively, I clenched around him to keep him in place. He didn’t seem to mind, gripping my hip with one hand and using the other to push my shirt up. The slide of his hand was a rough caress across the sensitive plane of my stomach.

Every sense suddenly felt heightened. I smelled his utilitarian soap mingling with the muskier scent of his arousal. My harsh breathing was loud in my ears as he stroked leisurely up and down my cleft. It was a dry and stuttering path at first, but his precum quickly made that stroke a smooth glide. He caught on my rim briefly on one pass, and I let out a little sigh. Fuck yeah. I wasn’t sure how my leisurely morning had segued into me getting screwed into the mattress, but I was all about that action.

He slid over my hole again, slower, and with intent this time. “Lube,” I reminded him hurriedly.

“I don’t need help back here, please and thank you.” I looked over my shoulder to find the lube bottle in his hand. He was breathless and flushed and so damned gorgeous. “I’m pretty much an expert when it comes to handling your ass. Physically and metaphorically.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Fuck you, McKenna.”

It was the only coherent sound I made for a while as he prepped me thoroughly, carefully, his fingers a welcome intrusion. I leaned back against him, my back pressed to his front, my head back on his shoulder, showing him without words that I trusted him implicitly. I was his to do with as he pleased. He rewarded my trust by taking my mouth with his, thrusting rhythmically with his tongue in my mouth and two thick fingers in my ass.

I could feel an orgasm building low in my stomach and ripped my mouth away from his. “Fuck,” I gasped as he plunged those talented fingers inside me a few more times. I reached back to still his wrist, and he avoided my grasp.

Soon enough, he replaced those fingers with his dick, and I reached back again, this time grabbing his hip. Not because of the burn, which was, quite frankly, the most fantastic ache. But because I was, once