Page 46

“That,” she said, “is an excellent use of a voice.”

Peyton slid one of my hands from her waist and pressed it between her thighs. “Here, please. Your thumb on my clit, light at first, the way you did with your tongue.”

I gave her what she asked for, and she picked up speed, rocking forward into the pressure of my thumb with her lips parted. I told her how good she looked and how she felt around me and what I meant to do the next time, and she answered by moving faster, and when I looked up she had closed her eyes.

This one built differently. She went quiet first, with her hand flattened over my heart, and then a long, rising sound broke in the middle as the muscles around me began to pulse in waves that nearly finished me on the spot. I held on, my thumb steady, until she folded forward onto my chest.

“Now you,” she said into my neck, once she could. “I want to feel it. Please don’t hold back on my account.”

“Honey, if you keep moving, I won’t be able to.”

“That’s the idea.”

I sat up, wrapped my arms around her, and pressed my face to her shoulder while she rocked against me, slow and deep, with her hands in my hair. The release came from low in my spine and went through me in long, hard waves, her name rough in my throat, and she held on and moved with me through all of it until I was done.

We stayed like that for a while, her arms around my neck and my breath coming back. She laughed softly into my shoulder.

“I’d like to send flowers to every author I’ve ever doubted.”

I eased her down onto the pillows. “How are you? Honestly.”

“Ridiculously well.” Peyton caught my hand and held it against her sternum. “A little sore, in a way I find I rather like. And thank you for taking me at my word whenever I told you what I wanted.”

“You made it easy. I’d have listened all night.” I kissed her forehead. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

I found the bathroom, ran the tap until it was warm, and wrung out a washcloth. On the way back, I collected the two glasses of water we’d left on the kitchen counter. When I returned to the bedroom, she had pulled a pillow under her head and was watching the door.

She took the washcloth with a grin. “That’s considerate and slightly mortifying,” she told me. “I appreciate both.” Then she drank half her water in one long swallow, handed me the glass, and said, “I hadn’t realized I was thirsty.”

I set both glasses on the nightstand beside her case and her hair clip, and I stood there a second looking at her, dark hair loose on the pillow, cheeks still pink. I’d had good nights before, but I couldn’t remember wanting so badly to stay put once they were over.

I pulled the quilt up from the foot of the bed and climbed in. She was already reaching for me.

Peyton lay tucked against my side beneath the quilt, her dark hair spilling across the pillow. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room, and I could hear the occasional rustle of branches brushing against the cottage outside.

She was quiet for a while, tracing a fingertip over the back of my hand as though she was perfectly content to stay where she was.

I liked that. I’d spent plenty of evenings alone in my own house, comfortable with the peace and quiet after a long day at work. Having Peyton beside me made the stillness feel different. I didn’t feel any hurry to reach for my phone or think about tomorrow’s responsibilities.

Eventually, she lifted her head.

“May I tell you something without you laughing at me?”

I turned toward her, amused by the seriousness of her expression.

“You can tell me anything. Although I can’t promise not to laugh if it’s funny.”

She smiled, then rested her chin against my chest.

“I was rather worried about tonight. Not because I didn’t want to be with you, but because I didn’t know how I’d feel afterward. I’ve spent so much time being the woman men wanted as a friend that I wasn’t sure what it would be like to have someone genuinely want me.”

I brushed my fingers through her hair, listening as she continued.

“But I’ve felt wanted all evening. When you picked me up, when we were walking through the festival, even when you were laughing at me for screaming at the haunted house.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you, honey. I was having a good time with you. There’s a difference.”

She smiled.