Page 127 of Nothing to Tell

He wasn’t.

Yet he smelled so good, it was difficult not to turn her face against him and—her fingers opened, splaying against the stomach they’d rarely retreated from all night.

This was why staying with him was a bad idea.More than body heat sizzled between them.Static nipped and sparked in the air when his palm ascended her arm.Was that a conscious choice?If he was sleeping, it meant nothing.

If he wasn’t, it meant something, was that what she was saying?

Oh, men.Relationships.Life in general.Why did it all have to be so problematic?

His other hand met her knuckles on his stomach and started upward too.They came together cupping her face, drawing her up, like he just knew to capture her lips with his.

Not asleep.Very awake.And amazing.Completely amazing.

Rising, her leg trailed across his body, locking her pelvis to his as he sat up.His fingers ascended her back, coiling in her hair, pulling it back, exposing her neck to his tongue, his lips, his—

On an intake of breath, she meant to say his name, to say stop, but his hips came up, he grabbed hold of hers and—a long whine left her throat.From way down deep in her center, the whine became a whimper, became a pant and, oh, he felt good.His cock rubbed her just right, right there, that spot, over and over—oh.

She grabbed for his hand still gripping her hip as his other hand did the work of pushing her shorts aside and ah… Pure satisfaction became heat, need raced to be quenched, back and forth, up, he’d slide away and, mmm, ram himself deep.

Warmth, craving, it drove her to move faster until he flipped them over, took his place above her and hammered in fast.

This was them, the home she needed, the grounding point of him on her, controlling the pace, taking a piece of her, claiming it, claiming her.

What was wrong?Nothing.What was right?Him embedded deep inside her, plunging deep, stealing the oxygen that barely had a chance to reach her lungs.

She wanted—she needed—she—oh, she…

“Bastian,” she yelped, clawing at his neck, her body braced, frozen then, vigor returned in pure sated lust, a blissful moment where every atom in the universe clicked into its intended place.

All was right with the world.

Her muscles relaxed, her head sank into the bed and there it was, the spark in his eye, the dimple.Reality set in with rigid realization.

With a firm push on his shoulders, she wriggled out from under him.What was she thinking?Where was her sense?

“Babe?”

Showing him a halting palm, she swung herself off the bed.Oh, God.Why was she so weak?That was meant to be a judgment of her character, right up until her legs threatened to go from under her.Dropping, she sat on the edge of the bed.

She needed a minute.

When his fingertips met her waist, she flinched.Not in disgust but in frustrating desire.She wanted his touch, too much.Wanted it on her, everywhere, every minute.She wanted to go back to their Grand suite and lock the door for another four days.

This was dangerous.

Muscles tensed as her gut clenched and—she couldn’t trust herself and leaped up from the bed.

“Sweet…” he said, wary and slow.“Don’t panic, baby.”

Panic?Her?Closing her eyes, she raised an index finger and took a breath.What was she going to do?What would she say if…?

No.That wouldn’t go well.

She had to get out of there.Now.

“Harper!”

No.Rushing into her bedroom, she closed the door and flicked the lock.Had that been there the whole time?She paced away, back, away again.What was she going to do?