Page 92 of Mate
MY FIRST THOUGHT WHEN SOMEBODY SHAKES ME AWAKE INthe middle of the night is that Koen was right.
Which is not something I necessarily love to acknowledge.
“Come on, killer.” A large, calloused hand pushes back the damp strands of my hair. The touch is warm and firm, should probably feel like too much, but I don’t mind it at all. In fact, when it moves away, I let out a small whimper. “Bath’s ready.”
I make myself murmur something unintelligible that’s half exhaustion, half gratitude. Opening my eyes takes more effort than a graduate degree. I wait for my body to inform me that yes, a lawn mower did just finish joyriding all over us and we do feel like utter shit, as per our regular programming.
Except, we don’t.
Yup. Koen really was right. Watch me drown myself in the tub to avoid admitting it.
I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “C’mere,” Koen tells me.
His arms close around me and carry me into the bathroom. He’s bare-chested, wearing gray sweats and nothing else— ready for skinny dipping. He sets me on the bathroom counter and pulls my leggings down my thighs, somehow managing not to touch me in a single inappropriate spot. He leaves my T- shirt on. Then he picks me up again and slowly lowers me into the tub. My toe brushes against the surface, and—
“No,” I say.
It’s a soft command, but Koen stops without hesitation.
“It’s too cold,” I explain calmly. Because I feelsocalm right now. Why am I usually so full of doubt? I know what I need. I know how to get it. Always have. “I don’t want to be cold.”
Koen misunderstands. Gently sets me back on the counter. “Let me add some warm water to— ”
“No,” I repeat, jumping to my feet. I feel weird. Like I’m both speaking and observing myself speak. Awake, but sleeping. The best part is, I’m not justnotin pain. I’m actually . . .
I feel . . .
I feel fucking amazing. And IthinkI . . .
I step toward Koen, drawn by his heat, the texture of skin, his phenomenal scent. I don’t need cold water, because I havehim. I didn’t know anyone could be so perfect, but here we are. I want to touch him, so much so, I’m not sure it’s allowed. There has to be a limit to how much we crave. Can’t approach infinity, or it’ll stretch us too thin.
I move closer and closer. The cotton of my shirt abrades my hard nipplesall wrong, so I yank it off and toss it as far as I can. It lands in the tub, and I swallow a smile.
Oops.
“Better,” I say.
Koen freezes. His eyes, already suspicious, narrow on me. But he doesn’t—Look, Koen— even glance down—Come on, Koen— at my naked body—I want you to look. He doesn’t ask stupid questions—What are you doing? Are you okay? What is happening?— and I’m grateful for it. He just lets me loop my arms around his waist and place an open-mouthed kiss around his rib cage.
His breath hitches. He’s sostrong. And I just . . . Ilikehim. His moods. The way he steals my jokes. How full and happy I feel with him. Why have we not done this yet? Sure,reasons, butthey seem so irrelevant, when there is this needy heat pulsating inside me. He’s rock hard, too. He wants me. Half of the time, he doesn’t even bother hiding it.
“Serena.”
There has never been anyone like him. I could live a thousand more years, and there will never be.
“I need you to tell me what is happening to you.”
I hum against the spot between his pecs. Part my lips and lick it, ignoring the soft, raspy curse he lets out. The way his hand combs through the hair at my nape, first pressing my head to him, then pulling it back.
His eyes are nothing but pupil. “Are you warm?”
I think about it. Nod. “In a nice way.” A deep inhale. “You smell sogood.”
“What else?” He takes one of my wrists and lifts it to his face. Inhales deeply, as if searching for a lost trail. The brush of his nose against my skin feels better than the best sex I’ve had in my life. “Headaches? Nausea? Dizziness?”
I chuckle. “I am not, at the moment, experiencing every single prescription drug’s side effect.” However, my breasts do ache. I writhe against Koen’s chest, and I’m not sure it looks dignified, but it feelssensational. The friction. The low growl in his throat. “Maybe you and I could . . .”
Okay. Fine. This is about sex. Me, and Koen, and sex. I rub my thighs together, because my lower belly feels like a bowstring, pulled tighter and tighter, warmer and warmer, a pool of liquid heat—
