Page 37 of Under Locke & Key

“You like me marking your skin with my mouth?” Bryce punctuates it with a gentle touch against my neck, the back of his fingers tracing over the love bites he’s given me. “Like knowing that whenever someone looks at them, they’ll know I made you mine?”

I don’t know what it is. This kind of intensity feels simultaneously surprising and also makes so much sense.

Bryce holds back in almost every aspect of his life.

He’s deferred to others for so long. It makes sense that now, with his walls down, the depth of what he wants is finally clear.

If I am finally me with him, then perhaps it’s the same for him.

Perhaps he feels safe enough to expose what he’s unable to ask for under normal circumstances—too scared to take.

“Is that what you want? For me to be yours?” I manage, panting between the words.

“Fuck yes. All of you. Mine.”

And just like that I shatter. Pleasure rolls over me in waves and Bryce folds himself against me again, covering my body with his. He swallows my scream against his lips and his thrusts grow erratic.

“Please,” I beg against his lips.

“Please what?” It’s harsh, undercut by the desperation of his breathing.

“Please come for me.”

His hands tighten on my sides, so strong I wonder if their impression will bruise my skin. “Where do you want it?”

It doesn’t matter much to me. We’ll have to shower or something after this anyway, given we’ve worked up a sweat again, but I have an inkling of what he’d prefer. Taking the risk, trusting my gut, I dig my fingernails into the skin on his back. Half circles to mark him the way he’s done me.

“Inside.”

My guess pays off because he whimpers, “Yes, fuck, yes,” against my skin and within a few thrusts he’s buried himself all the way. His body tenses as his own pleasure crests and drags him over. And he fills me.

Careful not to drop on top of me, Bryce wraps his arms around my back and turns us over so that I’m laying on top of him, straddling his still-hard cock.

The stretch combined with gravity has me moaning again.

And when some of him escapes, his release and mine, against my thigh I can’t help but shudder.

His hands are gentle on my back now, tracing lazy patterns against my skin as our hearts slow. Depleted.

“That was—” I rasp, my voice a little raw from screaming my release into his kiss.

“—phenomenal.” Bryce finishes my thought and I can’t help but agree. I’ve had great sex before but this, this was something else.

I’ve never let myself be “taken,” always stuck in my head and the need for control. Relinquishing that to Bryce, letting myself be and feel without overthinking it—I don’t know that I’ve had anything better.

His stomach growls below mine and we both laugh, more of him slipping out as I do so and some primal part of me relishes it.

“I’d ask ‘what now’ but I think your stomach answered for me,” I say.

“Sorry. Guess I worked up quite an appetite.” His joke has me grinning like a fool and I love this. Humor and ease. Sober and before dark. Being with Bryce like this is so unlike me and I can’t help but wonder if I could have this—all of this.

Days at the escape room, nights in bed, laughs in between.

With that slightly alarming thought, I extricate myself, reluctant but resolved.

“Let’s clean up and order something.” I’m at the door already, looking over my shoulder at him and it’s a stunning sight.

His bulk, his height, taking up most of my bed where he’s splayed. His hair is an absolute mess from my hands, his eyes hooded and a lazy smile on his face. He’s never looked hotter to me.

“See something you like?” His smile turns to a smirk.

“We’ve got to eat something. Gotta keep your strength up. I’m not done with you just yet.” And that thought is a little scary but if I bury it beneath the physical maybe I can postpone the panic.

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Bryce asks.

“Both.”

I slip into the shower, knowing it doesn’t matter how much water I use, Bryce Dawson will remain on my skin.

My body is tender where his hands have touched and gripped, my core a slight ache letting me know exactly where he’s been.

I take the time to center myself, to tuck away my traitorous feelings before they bloom into something uncontrollable.

Like the mint that nearly took over my mother’s back garden one year, Bryce threatens to overwhelm, and I can’t let myself consider that yet.

Not when it’s so tentative between us. Not until we’re done with the escape room and I can know without a doubt that this isn’t just the rush of a shared project, of feeling valued and respected.

Bryce waits for me to emerge before he kisses my cheek and steps under the spray. I dress, choosing soft material that won’t affect my sensitive skin.

Clean, bones languid, I settle onto the sofa and pull up delivery options near me while I wait. My apartment smells like him and it’s only once he walks out in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips that I realize our clothes are soaked and he has no others.

“Oh. Let me get our stuff into the wash. I totally forgot.”

Gathering the piles of clothes off of my bathroom floor, I chuck them into the washer as quickly as I can, and the old machine grinds as it starts.

“You in the mood for any particular kind of food?” Bryce asks from the living room.

“Whatever you’d like. I trust you.”

He’s on the couch, the towel still wrapped around him, and I settle down beside him.

“My washer and dryer are really slow, sorry.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me, “And what does that mean, exactly?”

Words. Of course. He needs me to say it.

“That means it would be better if you gave them time to dry properly. It’ll be late once they’re done. Maybe you should stay.” My cheeks flame and my attempt at being coy about it is totally ruined by me blushing like a fool. I drop my gaze down to my hands, wringing them in my lap.

How can I be so confident about sex and so unsure about what comes after?

Bryce tips my head up, his finger crooked under my chin to urge me to look at him.

“I’d love to stay,” he says, quiet and devastating, and tucks me into his side.

Our food arrives shortly after we order, the scent of sweet tomato sauce and savory cheese sending my own stomach growling, and we devour the pizza in front of the TV.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Smallville?” Bryce sounds aghast.

“Exactly what I said.” Taking another bite of my slice, I suppress a grin at his expression.

He takes the remote from my hand and pulls it up. “That is something we are going to remedy right now.”

The theme song comes on, something missing from recent shows, and I watch the light of the screen flicker across Bryce’s face as sunset steals the daytime.

Content. I am so content. He laughs against my side at how ridiculous the early 2000s special effects look, that rumble passing through his body and to mine.

Later, with his clothes dry and folded, he puts his boxer briefs back on and I strip down to an oversized shirt and underwear. Melting into the bed, both of us are tired from the exertion of renovation, stress from being locked in, and the exhilaration of the storm and what followed.

Bryce tucks himself behind me, enveloping me. His knee between my legs, arm slung over my side to splay across my stomach, Bryce spoons me from behind and I know I’m in trouble.

Because I’ve never felt safer or happier than right here in his arms. Sleep drags us under and the last thing I’m aware of before it takes me is Bryce’s whispering, “Good night” and the press of a kiss against the top of my head.

* * *

One unexpected perk to falling asleep next to your half-naked boss is that forgetting to set an alarm is a non-issue.

Can’t be late to work if they are too. Sunlight streams through the crack between my curtains and somehow in sleep we’ve migrated from spooning to me partially on top of him.

Leg thrown over his hips and my head on his chest, Bryce’s breath is a gentle ebb and flow beneath my ear.

I let myself smile, bask in the warmth of him against me, for a moment.

And then I realize what’s woken me. An insistent buzzing on the bedside table vibrates a phone across the surface.

Shifting, trying to extricate myself without waking him, I fail spectacularly.

I’ve barely rolled over and grabbed the phone before he hauls me back against his body, tucking his head against my body and protesting the start of the day.

“Phone call,” I whisper, though it’s useless since we’re both awake now.

“Yours or mine?” His morning voice is husky in a way that makes heat pool in my core again, wanting to hear him do more of that dirty talk from last night. Because, wow. Unexpected but so hot.

The caller ID reads “Mom” but the black rectangle is indistinguishable otherwise. Rooting around the table for the other, I press the home screen on the one that’s not ringing and the lock screen is his.

“It’s mine.” The call drops and my stomach sinks as I note the seven missed calls from her. I remember the texts from a few weeks ago that I ignored because I was too scared to tell her the truth and too tired to keep lying. Distance and omission seemed safest. I’m not quite sure about that now.

Immediately dialing back, it only rings once before she’s on the other end. “You better be dead or dying!”

“I was asleep. What’s up?” I should probably take this call in another room, but Bryce’s hand has snuck under my tshirt and he’s trailing his fingertips over my stomach in a way that gives me butterflies.

“Asleep? At nine on a workday?” Pulling the phone from my ear I check, and sure enough we’ve slept in.

I can still hear my mom’s tinny voice even without it pressed against my face.

“I have been outside your apartment since seven hoping to catch you before you went into the office. Imagine my surprise when some random person answers the door and tells me he has no idea who ‘Rachel’ is.”