“Come here.” He holds his hand out to me. “Like now.”
Shaking my head, I go to him, and promptly yelp when he grabs hold of my wrist and yanks me onto the bed. “Easy,” I admonish as I straddle his lap, facing him. “I’m not going to be happy if you make me kick your leg.”
“Screw the leg.” His hands settle on my hips.
Since I have him all to myself, I explore the silken skin of his chest with my hands, loving the dense muscles and the heat he gives off. Drew is always warm. “Feeling all right?” My voice is soft with a protectiveness I hadn’t known myself capable of.
“Feeling pretty damn fine now, Jones.” He lifts a hand and gently traces the iron-on number one over my right breast. My nipple stiffens under his touch, and he lingers there, drifting back and forth. “This looks a lot better on you than it does on me.”
And though heat is in his gaze, I hear the hitch in his voice and the darkness. My insides clench. I try to shift away, but he holds me tight, a frown working between his brows as he looks at me in question.
“I shouldn’t have worn this. It was insensitive.” Why didn’t I realize he’d remember his loss when he saw the stupid jersey?
He gives my hip a squeeze. “Yes, you should. Every damn night, if I have my say.” He fights valiantly for a smile.
Wanting to sooth him, I caress his shoulders. “All right. If you wear this every night.”
“But I’m not wearing anything, Jones.”
“I know.” I give him a soft kiss.
Our lips cling, and he threads a hand through my hair.
“You’re so beautiful to me,” he says against my mouth.
I pull back to look him in the eyes. “To you?”
He often says that, and part of me wonders if others have said something contrary to him.
“To me.” His fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, brushing a lock of hair over it. “When we’re together, it’s just you and me. No one else exists.”
He makes me want to cry, to tell him things I’ve never allowed myself to think, much less say aloud.
“Drew.” I press my fist against his chest. “You can’t keep saying these perfect things to me.” I give him a wobbly smile. “I mean, how am I supposed to match that?”
He chuckles. “Are you giving me grief for being too romantic?”
“No.” I kiss his cheek, high up by the corner of his eye. “Maybe. I find that when it comes to you, I’m competitive too.”
Another laugh rumbles in his chest. “Game on, then?”
“Yeah.” I kiss his other cheek.
He sighs, touches my neck, a light stroke. “Hit me with it, Jones.”
“Drew?” I nuzzle his ear.
“Yeah?”
“I think you’re real cute,” I drawl.
He bursts out laughing. “Oh, wow,” he deadpans. “I’ve just been schooled.”
“You know it.”
I’ve missed him. Happiness is a blade that cuts into my heart.
His warm palm skims up my thigh until his thumb brushes the curls between my legs. Immediately, my insides clench. More so when his voice lowers roughly. “Ah, I missed this. I missed the perfection of your *.”
“Oh, that’s smooth,” I say with a snort.
“Classy too.”
We snicker, but another light touch of his thumb makes me utterly wet. He feels it and sighs, resting his forehead against mine. “Anna Jones’s *. Total perfection.”
“I’m thinking of having cards made up that say just that.” I’m trying not to squirm against his roaming finger.
“At the very least, have it imprinted on your underwear.” He flickers a thumb over my clit.
“I’ve decided to forgo underwear altogether.” I’m breathless. “Seems a shame to cover perfection, you know?”
“Good plan. You don’t want to smother our girl here.”
“You’re so thoughtful, Drew.”