Page 48 of Guarding the Star

She stands without pulling her fingers out, pressing her body against mine from behind. She's taken off her shirt, and I feel her bra against my bare back, the denim of her jeans against my ass. The asymmetry of it, me completely exposed, her still dressed, turns me on in a way I can't explain.

“Not yet,” she whispers in my ear when she feels me grinding for more friction.

“You're cruel,” I breathe.

“I'm patient,” she corrects, and her teeth graze my earlobe while her fingers make me shake from head to toe.

She changes the pace. Slow. Painfully slow. Pressing down until I'm about to beg. Then she speeds up, pushes harder on the exact spot, and I let my head fall back against her shoulder.

“I can't take it,” I tell her.

“I know,” she whispers, placing her free hand on my stomach. “Let go.”

I break. And it isn't a metaphor. Something inside me opens, spills over her hand in waves that don't seem to end. I scream. Or maybe I just moan her name, over and over, gripping the counter and shaking.

She doesn't pull out. She stays inside me, easing the rhythm, stretching the pleasure until it's too much and I have to push her hand away, too sensitive to take any more.

She turns me around gently, hands on my hips, and lifts me onto the counter next to the dishes we never finished. She steps between my knees and holds me. I rest my head on her shoulder. I kiss her while I catch my breath.

“I'm not done with you yet,” she murmurs against my hair.

“I know,” I answer, sighing.

“Take off my clothes,” she orders.

I've always liked being in charge during sex, but with Paula, that command, in the middle of a messy kitchen, feels like the sexiest thing in the world. So I pull her jeans down with hands that still shake, unclip her bra, take a little longer with her underwear because I want to reveal her slowly.

When she's fully naked, she moves close and I'm so sensitive that the first brush of her nipples against mine makes me gasp. She presses me against the counter, finds my pussy with her thigh while I do the same with hers, and we grind at the same rhythm, each leaving a faint trail of wetness on the other's skin.

And we don't make it to the bedroom.

We don't even try.

Because watching Paula lose control while she comes is the best sound in the world. Better than twenty-five thousand people celebrating a goal.

Nothing compares. It's the perfect sound.

***

At two in the morning, Paula sleeps naked beside me. Relaxed. Beautiful.

I don't stare at the ceiling anymore. I stare at her.

Her black hair messy on the pillow. Her hand on my stomach. Outside, the rain has stopped.

Her phone buzzes on the nightstand next to mine. The screen lights up and the notification is impossible to miss.

“Subject on the move.”

Shit.

“Paula. Paula, wake up. Please,” I say, shaking her.

She opens her eyes, groggy, but the second she sees my face she bolts upright.

“What is it?”

I show her the phone.