Page 150 of Pucking Strong

He grins. “I just meant take pictures in general. I saw all the camera stuff back in Stockholm.”

I let my eyes feast on him, dropping my gaze to his shoulder as I trail my fingers slowly down his arm. “Sometimes.”

“What do you like to photograph?”

He’s nervous talking, trying to distract himself from the feel of my hands on him, trying to keep this moving slow. I allow it. “I like macro photography. Not that I’m any good at it. I don’t have the time to do it properly.”

“Macro photography is fitting for you, the man who pays attention to every detail.”

“Life is in the details,” I murmur, slipping my hand under his arm to brush my thumb over his dark nipple.

He shivers, leaning closer rather than away. Bracing himself with one hand on the tub, he runs the other through my hair, giving the roots a tug until my head tips back. “Do you ever photograph people?”

I like the feel of his hands on me, the tension on my hair as he tugs at my roots. “Only at family functions. Petra would shove a camera at me and demand pictures on holidays. I like portraiture too. I’ve just never experimented with it much.”

Smiling, he reaches over the side of the tub and plucks his phoneoff the stool. Norah Jones pauses as he turns on his camera app and hands me the phone. “Take my picture.”

“Teddy …”

“Hey, it’s a good camera. With the sexy lighting in here, I’m gonna look hot,” he adds, nodding around at the electric candles. He strategically placed them around the room while the tub was filling with water.

I take the phone, and he stays leaning over me, shifting his hips until our cocks touch. I stifle my groan as he grins. “You did that on purpose.”

He laughs, sobering as he focuses on the camera. “Tell me what you want. If you don’t like this angle or—”

“It’s perfect. Hold still.” I place the phone low, near my chin, angling it up at him. I want to capture the feeling of him floating over me, the light around him golden. I take the shot and check it. The candles cast shadows over the sharp angles of his shoulders, his muscled chest, his jawline. Golden light warms the fair brown hue of his skin.

He sits up. “Well?”

Turning the phone, I show him the picture.

He actually blushes. He’s naked in my lap, eager for more intimacy, and a photo makes him blush. He glances down at me. “Do you like it?”

Taking the phone from him, I set it aside, never breaking our eye contact. With my free hand, I cup the back of his neck and pull him down to me. Our lips lock in a kiss, and then he’s melting into me. I’ve never felt this with another person. This level of trust, this feeling of intimacy. Teddy was right—this is chemistry. There’s something about our chemical makeups that just works.

Strange, because on paper we make no sense. He’s loud and chaotic, always changing his food order. One day he wants banana pancakes stacked with syrup. The next it’s breakfast tacos. And he likes movies that make him cry. He’ll watch themsohe can cry. He feels everything at once, all the time, with no filter and no pause button. He ought to drive me crazy. Hedoesdrive me crazy.

And yet, I can’t seem to get enough.

With Teddy, I fear there is no enough.

All the while, here I am, quiet and contained. I could eat the same thing for breakfast every day for the rest of my life without complaint. I overanalyze everything. All things ordered, everything in its place. Teddy once accused me of being so good at compartmentalizing that I put living in a box.

He was right. Before he and Karro came into my life, I wasn’t living. I was merely existing. I was biding time on this earth.

No, I waswastingtime.

Well, I don’t want to waste another minute. This beautiful man is in my arms, and he loves me. With all my faults, all my fears and over-rationalizations. He’s been biding his time for years, just waiting for me to notice him.

I see him now. I can’t look away. And at the end of my life, I don’t want a handful of moments to look back on and treasure. I want a library of cataloged prints. I want messy stacks of memories, too many to fit on the shelves—with Karro, with Teddy, with the people who make our lives full. I’m starting now. Teddy is in my arms, and I’m not letting go.

“Mitt hjärta,” I whisper against his lips. My strong heart. My Teddy. Breaking our kiss, I frame his face with both hands. He smiles down at me, drunk on my affection. My fear of intimacy means nothing with him in my arms. With him, I am safe. With him, there will be only pleasure. Only love.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers.

“Du är min nu,” I say with a smile. “Du betyder allt för mig.”

He runs both hands through my hair, returning my smile. “I’m gonna assume you just said that I’m a really good kisser and that you’d like me to keep going.”

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