Page 121 of For the Plot
“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, already shirtless, already ruining my life.
I take the mug he offers and try not to swoon. “You made my blend?”
“I had Michael pick it up this morning,” he says. “I don’t stock subpar coffee.”
I raise a brow. “That’s your way of saying you missed me, huh?”
He smirks. “You have no idea.”
He leans down and kisses my forehead, then my nose, then my mouth. It starts sweet—then turns molten. Tongue, teeth, hunger. I tug his waistband, and he groans into my mouth.
“Again?” he asks.
“Mmm,” I moan against his tongue that swirls inside my mouth. “Never enough.”
He gently pushes me back onto the bed and climbs over me, fingers already dragging up my thigh. “Let’s test that theory.”
I’m still catching my breath when he shifts beside me, his arm curling under my neck to pull me tighter into his side. His chest is warm and damp, his hand sliding absently up and down my spine like he has no intention of letting me go. Ever.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
“Define okay.”
He chuckles, low and rich. “Broken in half? Satiated? Thinking about what round we’re on?”
“Somewhere between ruined and blissfully boneless.”
He props himself up on one elbow and looks down at me. His eyes are soft now, without the fire from last night, but the hunger still lingers, like it never really leaves him when I’m around.
“I love seeing you like this,” he says. “Hair messy. Skin flushed. That little smirk you try to hide when you know you got me by the balls.”
I roll onto my side, facing him. “And here I thought you were the one doing all the damage.”
“I think we both know it goes both ways, sweetheart.”
His hand glides up my thigh, slow and possessive, until his thumb brushes just beneath the curve of my ass.
“Reece.” I sigh audibly. “You’re insatiable.”
“I’ve been starving for you for weeks,” he says. “Forgive me if I want a second or third helping.”
I reach for his face and trace my thumb along the stubble on his jaw. “You make me feel like I’m more than just wanted.”
He stills.
“You are.” His voice is low, steady. “You’re not just something I crave. You’re someone I respect. Admire. And yeah—someone I can’t get enough of, even when you drive me fucking insane.”
My throat tightens. I don’t say anything. I just move closer, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, reverent. He deepens it, rolling over me with a groan as our legs tangle beneath the sheets. His cock is already hard again, pressing against my inner thigh.
I tilt my hips. He growls.
“Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” he warns.
“Who says I’m not ready?”
He slips inside me with one smooth thrust, stealing my breath all over again.
And just like that, we’re right back where we started, wrapped up in each other, in this bed, in something that feels a hell of a lot like feelings.
