“That happens sometimes. The rush of the moment clouds everything, making it hard to remember anything clearly, but then something will happen and the fog will clear, making it easier to remember,” he says, and that’s exactly what this feels like. When they asked me and July if we could help them make a sketch of the assailant, neither of us we’re able to paint a clear enough picture for the sketch artist and they had to give up.
“So what does this mean?” I ask, holding up the piece of paper then dropping it down onto my lap.
“Wes is showing this to July tonight. If she says the same thing you have, that this is the guy, then we will start tracking him,” he says as dread fills my chest.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” I say, watching him smile, which pisses me off. “I’m serious,” I growl in annoyance.
“I know you are, and that’s what makes it so cute,” he says, taking the paper out of my lap and tossing it to the floor. Then he crawls over me, pushing me to my back in the bed. “Do you think she’s asleep?” he asks against my ear as he settles himself between my spread legs, allowing me to feel his erection through the material of his jeans and the thin cotton of my sleep shorts.
“She was half asleep when we finished reading her book,” I murmur as he licks up the side of my neck, pulling a moan from the back of my throat.
“I think you need to be punished for all your back-talking today. What do you think?” he asks, causing my core to convulse, my knees to tighten around his hips, and my hands to wrap tightly around his shoulders.
“Okay,” I agree without thinking then close my eyes when I feel his chest vibrate with laughter against mine. “I mean no,” I retract, letting my legs fall open and my hands slip from his shoulders.
“Sure you do,” he says, raising his head above mine, smiling down at me and, not for the first time, I’m struck by how absolutely gorgeous he is. Lifting my hand, I run my fingers over the scruff along his jaw then over his bottom lip, remembering how it feels against mine every time he kisses me.
“The first time I saw you, my world stopped,” he says, catching me off guard, and my gaze goes to his. “Nothing else existed but you, and then it stopped again when I held Hope for the first time. And since that moment, there have been a million pauses, each one giving me something beautiful to remember,” he explains, and I feel my vision go blurry with tears. So I do the only thing I can: I lift up and press my face into his neck, where I whisper, “I love you,” while wrapping my legs and arms around him, soaking in the feeling of being in his arms.
“Let me check on Hope, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple after a few minutes. Letting him go, I roll to my side and watch as he leaves the room and walks down the hall, coming back a few seconds later and pulling off his shirt when he enters the room. “She and the puppies are asleep,” he whispers, leaving the door cracked behind him, then he turns on the monitor next to the bed that will let us know if she wakes as he toes off his boots and unhooks the buttons of his jeans.
Captivated by his torso, I blink up at him when he commands, “Loose the shirt,” so softly the words are barely audible. Looking at the door, my eyes fly back to him when he growls, “Now,” in a tone that has wetness gathering between my legs. Reaching for the hem of my shirt, I slowly slide it up my thighs then belly, pausing below my breasts when his eyes grow darker. Swallowing hard, I pull it over my head and drop it to my side, feeling my hair slide over my breasts.
“So perfect,” he rumbles, stepping toward the bed, running a single finger over one nipple then the other. “Now the shorts.”