Page 27 of This

Bag slung over his shoulder, he locks his arms around me. “I needyou, upstairs. The painting will just be a bonus.” He leans in, but his gaze redirects behind me. “Are you aware of the shirtless dude cuddling a furry blanket on the couch?”

“It’s part of his creative process.”

Dane nods, eyebrows drawn together. “I’ll have to try that excuse the next time I fall asleep almost naked at my desk.”

I laugh, and he backs me through the apartment, past the snoring artist. I try to turn around at the stairs, but he holds on to me.

“No, no, no,” I say in a panic. “I’ll fall.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” He picks me up and climbs the stairs, wrapping my thighs around his waist. His lips twitch when I squeal and throw my arms around his neck.

At the top of the stairs, I wiggle to get down, but he keeps going across the catwalk. I clamp my eyelids shut even though I have less of a chance of plummeting over the side while clinging to him than anytime I traverse the damn thing myself. I never did take that yoga class.

I direct him to my room, his slate eyes amused at the sight of the clown looming over my dresser. He swings the door shut behind us and drops his bag on the floor, followed by us on the bed. I skim my hands to the back of his neck and tug him down to kiss me. With his weight on me, I sink into the fluffy comforter.

Pushing it away from our faces, he smiles against my mouth. “This thing is…”

“Like a cloud?”

He nods once before his tongue dives into my mouth, and neither of us cares about the plushness of the dream comforter anymore. His lips leave mine as I drag his shirt over his head. I nudge him onto his back and crawl on top of him. While I straddle him, stripping off my top, he scrubs a hand over his face.

“You okay?” I ask.

The answer comes in the form of him dragging me down and sealing his mouth over mine. “Never. Fucking. Better,” he says between kisses. His hands go everywhere after that, jerking my hips forward, squeezing my ass, cupping my breasts, rubbing his eyes, thrusting into my hair.

He sniffs and flips us over.

“Are you getting sick?”

“Nope,” he says, yanking my jeans off. But while shoving his own down, he wipes another hand over his face.

I sit up and feel his forehead.

“I’m not sick.” He plants a kiss on my cheek, then one on my neck, and another on my shoulder, gently guiding me back down until a twenty-pound pile of fur jumps onto the bed, dipping the mattress where he lands. He must have darted in before Dane shut the door. For being overweight, Little Stevie can haul ass when he wants to.

As he rolls around on the comforter to claim his spot, Dane’s eyes cut to him. His slightly red eyes, watering the tiniest bit.

“Oh my God.” I sit up again, pushing him back. “You’re allergic to cats.”

He starts to shake his head but then moves it in a circle. “A little.”

“Dane!” I bat at him as he crawls backward off the bed.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I can be around them. We even had one for a while when I was a kid.”

Ignoring him, I collect Little Stevie. “Sorry, dude, but you are officially banished.”

After a swipe at my hand when I set him in the hallway, he trots away with a little more attitude than normal. I toss the comforter out, too, over the railing and into the living room to wash later.

When I turn around, Dane grins on his way toward me. “You should do all activities from now on, dressed just like this, bra and thong only. We’ll set up a live-stream to my computer, and I’ll—”

I push onto my toes and smash my mouth against his to shut him up. Then he takes an antihistamine and fucks me on my top sheet, rubbing his face on my chest until the pill kicks in.

Dane braces on an elbowbeside me, watching his fingertips drag across my skin, up my stomach, over my breasts, tracing the line of my collarbone.

“You’re making me self-conscious.”

“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t stop. “I’m memorizing. This has to last me until October.” He looks up with a wolfish grin and splays his hand out across my rib cage. “Unless you’ll let me take pictures.”

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