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“Want more?” I trace my thumb across her hot cheek.
She nods, and I tug off my shirt then make quick work of my jeans and boxers. I slide between her thighs, plant a quick kiss on her lips, then line myself up and ease in, slow as you like, revelling in the way her hot, slick heat grips me, inch by glorious inch.
Her eyes flutter shut, and she lets out a moan, a sound that hits me somewhere deep and primitive.
“Look at me,” I demand, and when she does, I push in deeper. This time, we both groan.
“Do you have any idea,” I growl, rolling my hips, “what you do to me, Catriona McIntyre? How good you feel around my cock?”
In response, Cat wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips, pulling me in even deeper, as if she can’t bear a single millimetre of distance between us. Christ, it’s like nothing else, like coming home, only I never knew what that felt like until now.
Cat undulates beneath me with this natural, instinctive rhythm that drives me wild, matching me thrust for thrust, rolling her body up into mine every time I sink deeper, greedy for every bit of friction we can make together.
The connection between us is electric—hot, frantic, desperate—but underneath it there’s something softer too. The way she clings to me. The way our mouths find each other between gasps and moans.
Before long, our skin grows slick with sweat and we’re both panting with effort. When Cat’s walls flutter around me, I know she’s close.
“That’s it,” I murmur as she looks up at me like I’m responsible for the stars in the sky. “Let go for me!”
She falls apart beneath me, and I follow her over the edge with a guttural groan, pouring every bit of myself into her as we come undone together.
Afterwards, I don’t pull away. Instead, I gather her close, pressing my damp forehead to hers as we catch our breath. I want to tell her she means more than anyone ever has, but I don’t know how.
Eventually, I manage, “Cat, this . . . isn’t just a bit of fun for me.” It’s not nearly enough, but it’s all I’ve got.
“I know. And you’re not just a bad boy to me.”
I pull out of her then wrap my arms around her, letting her settle against me with her head nestled beneath my chin. The things I can’t find words for hang quietly in the air, but I hope she hears them in the way I hold her close.
After a while, the sweat on our skin cools. Cat stretches, blissed out and deliciously sleepy.
I get up and drape a woollen throw over her. “Just going for a shower.”
She lets out a lazy, satisfied wee sigh and curls herself into the pillow.
When I return five minutes later, a towel slung low around my hips, I’m fully expecting to find her asleep. Instead, she’s sprawled naked atop the sheets, propped up on her elbows and eyeing the cork board, which she insisted I take after her and David’s undercover mission to the Glen Garve Resort. Her phone is awake beside her.
“Looking very relaxed there,” I say, admiring her perfect arse. I can’t resist sauntering round the bed for a better view, my eyes wandering shamelessly down the length of her body and lingering between her thighs.
Cat doesn’t even glance up. “Oi! Stop ogling my bits. I’m conducting serious detective work here.”
“Sorry, but can you blame me? You’re an absolute vision. Also, detective work in the nude?”
She grins sideways at me then returns her focus to the board. “Incoming English teacher fact: Ernest Hemingway wrote naked. Victor Hugo too. Others, I’m sure. It must be good for inspiration, and I need inspiration because I’m going to clear your name. I’m looking back through the photos I took in Samantha’s office and the evidence that David gave us, just in case I missed something.”
Suddenly she frowns and shifts onto all fours (which only gives me an even better view) then crawls closer to squint at something pinned near the bottom of the board.
“Talking of which . . . oh shit, I . . . I think I may actually have something!”
She twists around, her eyes alight with excitement, and it takes true effort to tear my gaze away from everything else on display.
“I think I can prove you didn’t nick anything. Just . . . give me a minute!”
And before I can ask what she means, Cat leaps off the bed and dashes stark naked from the room. I watch her go, torn between feeling like my luck might finally be turning and wondering how the hell my cock’s already hard again. Seriously, I’m pitching a tent in my towel here.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CAT
