Perfectly close.
“This is where you belong,” I say, as we begin to move, coming together with a grace and ease that leaves no doubt we were made for each other.
“Forever,” he promises as our gazes catch and hold.
And soon the world fades away, until there’s nothing but the two of us, together and close and perfect. So perfect and sweet. Sweeter and sweeter, our bodies straining harder, faster, until we fall apart and put each other back together again.
Hours later—after we’ve christened the shower, eaten cake off of each other’s fingers, and then decided eating cake off other body parts would be even more fun—I lie on the living room carpet with my head on Nash’s chest, too exhausted to move anything but the lazy fingers I trace through his dusting of chest hair. “I’m glad you don’t shave your chest,” I murmur.
“Why would I do that?”
“Most body builders do.”
“I’m not a body builder,” he says. “I’m a fitness enthusiast.”
“Is that right, Meaty?” I smile, my cheek still on his chest.
“That’s right, Red.” He cups my bottom through my sleep shorts. “I’m also an Aria enthusiast.”
I giggle. “No way. We can’t bang again. You’ll break my privates.”
“Wouldn’t want to do that,” he says seriously. “I really like your privates. A lot.”
“I could tell,” I say, still grinning. I reach down between his legs, beneath the waist of his pajama pants, wrapping my fingers around his already semi-hard cock. “I like yours, too. I will call him Mr. Magic and I will love him and pet him and give him kisses.”
“Kisses?” Nash asks in a voice so hopeful and eager I can’t help but laugh.
I push up on one arm, arching a dubious brow. “Seriously? You think Mr. Magic can handle kisses right now? Hasn’t he had enough?”
“When it comes to you,” he says, kissing my forehead, “there’s no such thing as enough.”
And that’s how we end up christening the couch.
And it is wonderful.
Almost as wonderful as this man.