Every muscle in my body locks.
I pull back enough to see her face. “You sure?”
Her lips are swollen already. Her eyes are wet but steady.
“No,” she says. “But I want real.”
Christ.
That answer is better than yes.
Messier. Truer. Hers.
I cup her face with both hands, knuckles screaming under the bandages. “Tell me yes when you mean yes. Tell me no and I stop breathing before I keep going.”
Her breath shivers.
“Yes.”
I stand and kiss her hard.
She wraps around me like she has been waiting all day to come apart and finally found the place. My hands go to her hips, pulling her flush against my cock. She gasps when she feels me, and I swallow the sound because if I hear too much of it, I will lose my mind on this kitchen floor.
I lift her onto the table.
She laughs once, startled and breathless. “The table?”
“Closer than the bed.”
“Romantic.”
“I’m bleeding and recently incarcerated. Adjust expectations.”
She kisses me again, and that is answer enough.
My hands slide up her sides, over the soft cotton of her shirt. I pause at her ribs.
“Still yes?”
“Yes.”
I push the shirt up.
Not off yet.
Just enough to touch skin.
Warm.
Soft.
Alive under my hands.
She arches into the touch like she forgot her body could ask for something without being ashamed. That movement nearly kills me. I lower my mouth to her neck, and she grabs my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt.
“Derby.”
My name sounds intoxicating.