Page 111 of Top Shelf

His attention sharpens immediately. “Are you sore?”

“A little.” I flex one leg experimentally. “Three orgasms and being fucked into another dimension will do that to a girl.”

The concern between his brows deepens.

“Viktor.” My hand reaches out to squeeze his thigh. “It's a good sore.”

He nods reluctantly, and helps me sit up. We make it to the bathroom together, and I pee while Viktor deals with the condom and washes up. Then we end up beneath the shower because there’s lube and the remnants of sex everywhere, and neither of us is pretending a washcloth is going to solve this situation.

The water is warm, and Viktor washes me with careful hands, and kisses my temple when I lean against him because standing upright is a struggle. He gets out first, and by the time I’m out and dry, I walk back through the door to find the sheets have been changed on the bed.

I pause in the doorway. There’s fresh bedding, and the lube and toys are packed away. There’s a full glass of water on my nightstand, and Viktor is already in bed, his arm folded behind his head.

“God,” I mutter, padding to my side of the bed. “This aftercare is honestly rude.”

“Rude?”

“Yeah.” I lift the covers and climb in, collapsing against the pillows. “It’s making me feel feelings.”

I pause, realizing what I’ve said, and turn my head in time to see his face softening. Fuck.

“Sorry.” I close my eyes. “That escaped.”

His hand reaches out, and his thumb rolls over my hip. “Do not apologize.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re very composed for a man who just admitted I gave him the best orgasm of his life.”

“I am not composed.”

I open one eye. “No?”

“No.”

Our eyes meet, and I look away, unable to deal with whatever this conversation is evolving into right now. But he doesn’t push it. Instead, he shifts onto his side and reaches for me.

We’ve woken up tangled before, despite the pillow wall—but we’ve never chosen this before sleep. Never wrapped ourselves around each other on purpose.

I go to him anyway. Viktor pulls me against him, and I twist until my back rests against his chest, his arm slung low around my waist. His body is so warm and solid, and my hand covers his where it rests against my side.

“New amendment to the contract,” I murmur. “Voluntary spooning may occur after heavy fucking.”

His mouth twitches on the back of my neck. “Only after fucking?”

“And other mutually agreed circumstances.”

“Mm. Household stability.”

“Exactly.”

His arm tightens, and I sink back into him because I want to. Because he wants me here in his arms. The pillow border is long gone, and neither of us has pretended to rebuild it since the shower happened a couple weeks ago.

Viktor’s thumb moves absentmindedly against my skin, and somewhere outside, a car engine revs and then fades. This should probably be the point where I panic a little. I’ve always known what to do with sex. When I want it, how to enjoy it, and when to leave.

But sex with Viktor stopped feeling casual a while ago, I know that much. And, okay, I nearly said something catastrophically stupid while I was coming, but that was clearly about the orgasm. I loved what he was doing to me. Important distinction.

Still, I like the weight of him. I like his fingers tracing lazy lines from my hip to my stomach. I like being held by him before sleep, and that the sex is over but neither of us seem remotely interested in creating any distance.

Maybe I should examine this more carefully, but my eyes are already heavy.