Darion shifted forward, and I found him. He reached around to grasp my bottom and drag me onto him.
I gasped as he thrust straight inside. We’d spent so much time being comfortable lately, behind closed doors, in our big perfect bed. This was exhilarating, liberating. Fun.
He reached between us again. He knew what would get to me fast. His thumb pressed against key parts in tight circles. My head felt light, the world falling away. The contact was intense and fierce. He worked me hard with his fingers and his hips rocked against me.
The pleasure radiated out, broad and heavy at first, then splintering into lightning shards. I cried out as it bolted through my body, making me clutch Darion, holding on for dear life.
He buried his face in my neck, his rhythm fast and steady and forceful. My body clamped down on his as the orgasm reached its peak. I felt his body tense, then release, and warmth spread through me. I gasped for breath, coming down with him in degrees.
Darion wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you for indulging me,” he said.
I smacked him lightly on the arm. “It was such a terrible inconvenience,” I said with a laugh.
He pulled back, his eyes mischievous and merry. “I’m a bad influence on your pristine soul.”
“I’ll drag you back from hell,” I said.
Darion looked down. “I guess we can’t stay like this indefinitely.”
I followed his gaze to where my skirt was draped over us. One of my shoes had fallen off. “We could always insist we were doing an obstetrical workshop.”
This made him laugh hard, his voice cutting through the quiet of the lounge. “Worth a shot.”
He pulled back. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, and his pants creased. He looked perfect.
I hopped off the counter and retrieved my shoe as he buckled up.
“So, how did you know where I was?” I asked.
“When Corabelle said you weren’t at the shower and not responding to texts, I had a good idea.” He tried patting his short hair back into place, but just made it worse. I giggled and ran my fingers through it.
“How is Albert?” he asked.
“He didn’t wake for me today. I just sketched.” I tugged on my spriggy ponytails. One had been knocked askew, and bits were falling out. We were both a mess. I worked on it as I watched Darion, waiting for him to ask why I hadn’t gone to Jenny’s party. He was supposed to have met me after the shift, and I hadn’t even told him I wasn’t there.
But he didn’t mention it. He picked up his white coat. “I just have the pediatric rounds to go. Lots of them are in your art therapy. You want to come along?”
He wasn’t going to ask. I didn’t have to say anything. My throat closed up. He got it. He knew me. He really, really knew me.
“Sure,” I managed to get out, my voice thick with emotion. I picked up my bag. “I want to see how Henry is doing.”
“He’s feeling pretty low from his chemo, but he’s a cheerful little guy,” Darion said.
We headed for the door. “Can we see him first?” I asked.
“No reason why not,” he said as he held it open.
The walk through the halls was different from when I’d arrived, dark and heavy from visiting Albert and guilty for skipping Jenny’s shower. This time I noticed the new bulletin boards and nodded at passing staff. I was better. This day was passing without a breakdown. Darion had known just what to do.
And what not to try to say.
We were already in the farthest wing of the hospital, almost to Henry’s room, when I remembered something.
We’d left the panties on the counter of the lounge.
Chapter 10: Jenny
Some freaking Thanksgiving.
Everyone out in the living room was drinking and partying. I was stuck in the back bedroom of a rock star’s mansion, clumsily trying to get Phoenix to latch on to my overfull boob.
I’d waited too long. I knew it. We’d left the sanctity of my mother’s place hours ago and come to a party hosted by a musician on Chance’s new record label. Chance was anxious and animated, ready to schmooze.
And I was trying to feed an infant.
I despaired at the milk dribbling onto my glittery skirt. I knew I should have worn something more practical — but this was a party! At least I’d managed to leave Phoenix for three hours yesterday to get my hair fixed.
But neither my fabulous new cotton-candy-pink dye job nor my clever outfit mattered at all since I was stuck in a back room.
Phoenix screwed up her eyes in frustration and wailed. At three weeks old, she’d definitely found her lungs. I searched around for a door to a bathroom, but the only one led me to a closet. I needed a towel to get some of this milk out so my boob was softer for her to latch on to.
Stupid me for waiting so long. I knew I was about to explode. But Phoenix had been asleep, and I hadn’t wanted to wake her.