Page 243 of Back in the Saddle

He tilted his head back to look at me, and I had no more thoughts about nighties.

As was becoming us, he didn’t need to say anything. I didn’t say anything either. But I hoped like fuck my expression was communicating the same thing his was.

I would know it did when he slipped a hand up my spine, into my hair and tipped my head down for his deep, wet, thorough but still tender kiss.

Last night after the whole thing went down, we fucked.

Tonight, we were oh so totally making love.

And honestly?

I had no preference. I adored doing both with him.

But right now, this was giving me life.

It was about him, me, kissing, intimacy and connection.

So many kinds of connection.

The orgasm Eric eventually gave me was slow in coming, and not explosive when it arrived. It was sweet and sultry and lasted a really long time.

After I had mine, and then watched Eric have his, he shifted me to my back in the bed with him resting down my side, his long legs tangled with mine, and his eyes went back to his hand which was skating over the charcoal gray silk at my belly.

“Admit it, Turner, it’s partially about the nighties,” I teased.

His gaze came to me, lazy and sated and so fucking bedroom, I felt an orgasm aftershock.

“You outdid yourself, sweetheart,” he replied.

I smiled.

“But…pink?” he asked.

“Pink?” I asked back.

With the very tip of his middle finger (yep, another aftershock), he traced the delicate lace at my bodice. It slashed a bit into the cleavage at an angle under my breast, and it adorned my left hip just at a little slit with the lace riding up nearly to my waist.

“This lace is pink,” he said.

I frowned. “It’s neutral.”

He looked to be fighting a smile. “It’s pink.”

“I don’t wear pink,” I declared.

Clearly not in the mood to fight over stupid shit, he said, “Okay.”

Though he said it in a manner where two things were clear. One, he didn’t want to fight over stupid shit. And two, he was humoring me.

I was saved from a retort by Henny jumping up on Eric’s bed.

My cat (or I liked to think of him asourcat) spent the day with his daddy at his daddy’s house.

Before this happened, Eric and I had had a half an hour discussion about it, along with us both huddling over my laptop researching articles about stressors for cats, and if we should move him to a new location so soon.

Everything said no. But in the end, since Henny would be going back and forth anyway depending on where Eric and I would be for a night, we decided to give it a go and see how Henny responded. If he seemed to have an adverse reaction, Eric would just bring him back and hang with him at mine.

Henny, who’d lived a bumpy life and sensed accurately that rough ride was over, took it in stride.

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