around her swollen clit. Another.
Then she gasped and arched and broke, sagging back against him as she squeezed his fingers and pulsed against his thumb and made low keening noises.
Gently, he stroked her through every twitch, every hitched breath.
When she was done coming, he removed his hand from her leggings, turned her in his arms, and let her watch, eyes heavy-lidded, as he licked his fingers clean.
A bit tart. Earthy, which seemed appropriate for her. Perfect.
The sunshine through the over-sink window gilded her. She was flushed and dewy and languid, leaning heavily against him, and he wished he had enough talent to capture that look on film. Not that he wanted anything to puncture this private, idyllic bubble of a moment.
With his thumb, he stroked a strand of hair away from her still-damp temple. “That was even better than I’d imagined.”
Her voice was husky. Amused. “You . . . you imagined this? Making me come in my kitchen?”
“The kitchen part was improvised.” He chased the flush on her round cheeks with his lips, letting it warm him. “But when you rubbed that amazing ass against me on the sidewalk, I wanted to get my hand into your pants and grind against you as you came around my fingers.”
She let out a breathy sound, and he drew back to grin at her.
“So smug,” she said, and he was almost certain that was meant to sound like a complaint. But there was too much affection in her tone for that, too much satisfaction.
“Where’s your bed?” He ducked down to trace the plump peninsula of her earlobe with his nose, then with his tongue. “I want to see you spread out for me.”
She made that sound again, and yes, he would admit it.
As she led him by the hand to her bedroom, his smile was definitely smug.
Lavineas Server DMs, Eight Months Ago
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Hey, Ulsie. You didn’t reply to my messages yesterday?
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Which is fine, but I wanted to make sure everything was okay. It was the first day I hadn’t heard from you in
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Well, months, I guess. Anyway, if you haven’t had time, I completely understand, but I just wanted to check on you.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: oh god i’m sorry broke a glass and cut my leg last night, ended up in the emergency room
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: before the stitches they gave me the good pain meds so i’ve been kinda out of it sorry, still am i guess
Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’m so sorry you got hurt, Ulsie. Are you okay?
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Please, PLEASE tell me you had someone else drive you home, and have someone taking care of you now.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: taxi time, bitches
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: not bothering friends so late, and no way i’d call my parents
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: no worries i’m fine now aeneas’s confused boner week is taking care of me, fanfic ftw
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: turgid tumescent throbbing confused boners ftw really
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Ulsie—
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Shit. I wish I
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Please be careful, and call someone if you need help.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: I’ll be checking on you whenever I can.
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: velvet over steel mofos velvet over fucking steel
17
MEN LIED, TO THEMSELVES AND TO HER.
Cocks didn’t.
Confronted with so much truth—veined, thick, glorious proof—even she couldn’t doubt it anymore. He wanted her. As she was.
April lifted her head and stole a glance at Marcus, currently kneeling between her thighs as she lay sprawled naked on her bed. For privacy, they’d drawn semi-sheer curtains across the windows, but some sunlight was still peeking through. Her room was aglow with it, every inch of her lit and exposed, and his erection had gone from impressive to painful-looking when she’d spread her legs for him.
Which was only fair, because the sight of him had her squirming restlessly.
He was golden in the filtered sunshine, strong and lithe and honed, leashed energy vibrating in every movement. When he hunkered down lower and slid his hands slowly up her thighs, over every dimple and swell, his longer strands of hair in front swung down, shielding his eyes from her.
They couldn’t have made eye contact anyway, though. He was watching the path of his splayed fingers, or rather her flesh as it prickled and burned beneath his deliberate caress. To her disappointment, he didn’t veer inward, toward the juncture of her thighs, but kept moving up, up, up. Past her hips. Over the mound of her belly and the silvery-pink stretch marks there, up her ribs, until he nudged the sides of her heavy breasts. But he didn’t linger there either, instead