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Now she actually stomps my foot, but it’s like a tickle given how light she is in my arms, and I chuckle.

“Fuck, Corm, I want to come. Now.” She pants and tries to bend.

I let go of her hair, so she can reach the wall again, her ass jutting out. The movement almost makes me come.

“We’ll work on your attitude later.” I ram into her once. Twice. Three times. “Touch yourself.”

She slides her hand between her legs. I snake my arm around her and pinch her nipple.

“Oh my God,” she cries out, and her body stiffens, her walls closing around my cock as she explodes around me.

I continue moving in and out, her skin slipping from my grip as she slackens, completely taken by her orgasm.

It’s a beautiful thing to see her come undone.

It’s a beautiful thing to let her come.

It’s a beautiful thing that pushes me over the edge, and I spill myself inside her.

She slams against the wall, and I cover her with my body, finding purchase with my forearm. Holding her light frame upright is almost impossible as I try to find my ground.

What is this woman doing to me?

Breaking my walls.

Redefining my beliefs.

Uprooting my priorities.

And the biggest problem: I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.

I pick her up and carry her to the bed where I collapse beside her.

Pulling her into my arms, I hold her so tight she probably can’t breathe. I’m unbearably in need of contact. Of having her in my arms in the aftermath of our climax.

I may be an asshole, but I’m no stranger to aftercare. Yet this is the first time I’m holding a woman because I need it probably as much as her.

The connection. The calm after the storm. The care.

Again, what is this woman doing to me?

“Where did you go?” I lace my fingers behind my head.

Saar is in the bathroom, but she kept the door open. It’s a little thing, yet it wraps around me, grounding me.

In lieu of her verbal declaration of trust or any commitment, I take her peeing with open doors like a just replacement. For now.

She laughs. “I’m in the bathroom.”

In the mirror on the wall, I see her as she hovers above the toilet, wiping herself. The image spreads honey around my chest, tugging at the corners of my mouth. When was the last time I felt this content?

“When you cheated your brothers in cards.” I roll on to my side, propping my head in my palm, my gaze on the mirror.

She saunters to the sink and washes her hands. God, her ass is a masterpiece. She dries her hands and messes her hair a little before returning.

“We went to a cooking school in Tuscany.” She grins, the mischief dancing in her eyes.

“So you know how to cook?”