Deja Who (Insighter #1)(72)
“Oh. Here. Over here.” She hauled him to the nook, rearranging several of the thick pillows and putting his Avengers graphic novels on the floor. Then she was wriggling on her back, her fingers in his, as she pulled him down on top of her, with six-foot-high windows right beside them.
He was worried he’d crush her but her lips broke his fall.
(Wait, that’s not right. Who cares, we’re kissing. Who cares, I’m on top of Leah oh my God this is the greatest day of my life back off, long weekend at Disney World, we have a new winner!)
Her mouth was sweet and warm, and often curled into that smile he was finding easier and easier to coax out of her. Her fingers slipped beneath his shirt and she stroked his chest, her touch skimming over his wounds, his belly, his nipples. He shivered in her embrace and she helped him pull the shirt off. She examined his wounds, which were carefully taped and healing well. “Are you sure it will be okay if—”
“S’fine.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Her smile turned sad. “More, I mean.”
He couldn’t stand it. “Leah. It’s so completely totally fine I can’t even.” And it was, but he would have lied. He could have been bleeding out and would have said it was fine. And it would have been fine. “Please touch me more or I’ll curl up and die, no pressure.”
She laughed and pulled off her own shirt, then sat up to wriggle out of her tan shorts. Archer may have helped—his hands were shaking too much for him to be sure—and then she helped with his jeans and, with a devilish grin and a whispered “Do you mind?”—his black boxer briefs.
“You didn’t wait for an answer,” he said, thinking he should mind that he was naked and she still in her bra and panties
(pale green satin, his dazzled, fevered brain reported, like early spring, her underwear is like early spring I didn’t even know sharks could pull off pale green)
and deciding he didn’t mind. At all.
Oh my God this woman is perfection and I don’t even know what color her nipples are.
“It was a rhetorical question,” she admitted, reaching behind her and unhooking her bra. The straps fell down her shoulders and he leaned forward and gently pulled them down her arms. She raised her hips and he slid her panties off as well.
“Pink!”
“Excuse me?”
“Your nipples. Now I know what color they are.”
“I’m so glad to please you,” she said primly, then ruined it with another of those grins. He felt dazzled and, more than that, lucky. He was getting to see a side of Leah that he doubted anyone else knew existed. Nobody knows how playful and adorable she can be. Nobody but me, how did I get so lucky?
And that was all he could stand to consciously think about; she was pale and perfect and studded with pink and her mound was dark silky hair and he pounced on her, and the nice thing about being stabbed by the future mother of his children was, if she had a problem with anything he was doing, she would have no problem stabbing him. Or letting him know some other way.
“God, you’re—”
“Yes,” she murmured, her hand on the back of his neck. “Oh. There. Right there.”
He was kissing her with zero finesse, more intent on pressing his mouth everywhere on her tender flesh than seducing, he was clutching her and groaning into her mouth and she wasn’t minding, she was getting pretty enthusiastically vocal herself.
He left her mouth only to kiss her nipples, his tongue curling around the hardened buds, and she shivered beneath him. He closed his eyes and reminded himself it was not cool to leave off the foreplay to get on with the pounding already but, ah God, it was hard—well, it was hard, of course, but—
“Stop thinking,” she whispered, her hands in his hair. She arched her back, pressing her breasts into his mouth. “It’s very distracting.”
“Sorry,” he managed, his hands slipping down her waist to clutch her hips and then sink lower, fingers skimming across the damp dark hair between her legs. “Oh, God. You’re so beautiful.”
He anticipated denial, and was happily startled when she murmured, “I know you see me that way. Thank you.”
“You like a tender boyfriend, right? Because I’m probably going to burst into tears in another few seconds. It doesn’t mean I’m not all man, baby. It probably doesn’t mean that. All right, there’s a chance I’m not all man.”
She giggled and her rosy flesh, flushed with arousal, trembled against him. “I’ve cried more than you have this month. Have you even cried this month?”
He let it go, since it was old business and settled, but she must have seen something in his face, because she was sitting up and gently pushing until he was sliding off her to sit back on his heels.
“Oh my God. You cried after I drove you away. You came up here to your tower and wept when you thought I—I did not want you—”
“Leah.”
“I should have thought of something else, I’m so sorry, I—”
“Leah! C’mon. It’s fine. I promise I’ll cry plenty of other times when you don’t do a damn thing to set me off. AT&T commercials make me cry, okay? iPhone commercials. When you want me to mow and it’s really hot out, I’m gonna cry like a little girl whose pet bunny got hit with a lawn mower.”