Page 95 of The Revenge Game
The fact I’m the one who brought him to this point fills me with a mixture of pride and awe that tips me over the edge right after him. Pleasure hits me with the force of a football tackle. My entire world narrows to the sensation of being inside Drew.
For several heartbeats, we stay wrapped in each other, my forehead pressed against his neck as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through us.
My fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, memorizing the way his skin feels against mine.
Eventually, I carefully pull out and deal with the condom, then immediately gather Drew back into my arms. I have this overwhelming need to maintain the connection between us. He comes willingly, melting against me like he’s lost all his bones.
Have I ever felt a greater sense of accomplishment than I do right now? I did this to this amazing man.
“You okay?” I whisper, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. His skin is flushed and warm under my lips.
“Mmm,” is all he manages, which makes me grin. Rendering Drew speechless is definitely something for my highlight reel.
I grab tissues from the nightstand to clean us up. There’s something so intimate about carefully cleaning him, about taking care of him right now.
When I’m done, I pull him close again, wrapping myself around him like I can somehow protect him from whatever makes him tense up sometimes. He nuzzles into my neck with a contented sigh.
“That was incredible,” I murmur into his hair. “You’re incredible.”
He lifts his head to look at me, and something soft and vulnerable in his expression makes me want to kiss him. So I do, pressing my lips to his in the gentlest of kisses, trying to pour all my feelings into the gesture.
When we part, Drew melts against my chest like he’s finally found his place in the world, his body fitting perfectly against mine.
His breathing slows, and I watch him for a while, mapping the way his dark eyelashes fan against his cheeks, the slight curl of his hair where it’s still damp with sweat, and how his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. I could happily spend hours just watching him sleep.
My heart does a weird flutter at that realization.
I carefully extract myself from the tangle of limbs, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead when he makes a sleepy sound of protest. After pulling on my boxers, I pad to the kitchen, gathering ingredients for quesadillas.
I’m carefully arranging Drew’s favorite toppings—extra cheese, those specific jalapeños he claims aren’t addictive, but he always takes seconds of—when footsteps make me look up.
Drew’s watching me from the doorway.
“I’m making you quesadillas for lunch,” I say. “If you’re hungry?”
“Thank you.” Drew hesitates for a second, then closes the distance, putting his arms around me and nuzzling the back of my neck.
I turn in his arms so I can kiss him.
Only the sizzling of the pan makes me reluctantly wrench my lips from his.
After rescuing the slightly singed quesadillas, we settle at my kitchen counter, our legs tangling together as we eat.
Cassie and Tabitha appear, summoned by the smell of food. Drew immediately starts sneaking them pieces of chicken.
I raise my eyebrow at him.
“I’m just ensuring I have inside agents for when the cats finally take over the world. It’s called strategic planning,” he says.
We migrate to the couch afterward. I pull Drew to me, and he ends up settling between my legs, his back against my chest.
He’s wearing my T-shirt, which is slightly too big on him, and something about seeing him in my clothes makes my heart do complicated acrobatics.
As we snuggle, we watch British comedians struggle with American concepts like the concept of free refills—“But when does it END?”—tailgating at sports events—“You mean people intentionally eat in car parks?”—and the mysterious allure of spray cheese—“This cannot possibly be classified as food.”
Every time Drew laughs, I feel it vibrate through my chest, and I watch him more than the screen. Tabitha claims Drew’s lap while Cassie drapes herself across the back of the couch above us, occasionally batting at Drew’s hair.
This feels so domestic, so right. I drop kisses onto Drew’s shoulder, neck, anywhere I can reach just because I can. He settles against me with a contented sigh.
