Call Me Saffron (Greenpoint Pleasures) by Talia Quinn

good.” Meaning: I want you to come, I want to feel your pleasure . Meaning: do it.
    And he did. A few rotations of his hips and buttocks, then I felt him pulse inside of me, his whole body clenching. “Oh God. Samantha. Ohhh.”  
    And he collapsed on top of me, nuzzling my ear. “Yes. Perfect.” It was a whisper.  
    A whisper that sounded too much like warmth and coziness and comfort. I felt my body tense, losing the lazy boneless feeling too quickly. “It’s just sex, right?”  
    “Just sex.” Dylan sounded drowsy, almost drugged. He kissed my shoulder, then nipped it gently. “Just mind-blowing, awesome sex. What else would it be?”

Chapter Ten

    When I got out of the luxe bathroom after freshening up, I expected to see Dylan where I’d left him, extravagantly sprawled across the bed, resting up for round two. Instead, he was struggling into his pants one-handed.  
    “When I said ‘just sex,’ I didn’t mean you should leave after only—”  
    He turned toward me, giving me a shushing gesture, and I saw the phone held to his ear.  
    Deflated, I sat in the armchair, deliberately crushing his suit jacket under my bare bottom. If he was going to slip back into work mode, I’d leave a few telltale creases as a not so subtle reminder of our escapade.  
    Then I caught his words and forgot my pique.  
    “How badly was she hurt? Is she conscious?” He sat on the bed, his pants half-zipped. “I see. No, I understand. Yes, I’ll come over now. I’m downtown, so it could take a while, depending on traffic.” He looked around, clearly searching for a pen. I grabbed one off the spindly desk, and a pad of hotel stationary to go with it.
    Dylan nodded his thanks and jotted down some information. A room number and a doctor’s name. “Okay, I’ll be there when I can.”  
    He clicked off and stood, properly fastening his pants. “I have to go. I’m sorry. Can we pick up next week where we left off? After all, you gave me the whole night, right?” His smile was lopsided and strained.
    “What’s going on? Someone’s in the hospital?”  
    He hesitated. “It’ll be fine.” But it clearly wasn’t.  
    “Dylan. What’s going on?”
    He snagged his shirt and shrugged into it. “Persephone was in a motorcycle accident.” His face twitched, an involuntary wince, and I was thrown back. My grandfather’s serious face. “I’m so sorry. Your father was rushed to the hospital last night. Your mom is there with him now.” He’d winced at my dismayed gasp. “He’ll be fine,” he’d said reprovingly.  
    Dylan frowned at me now. “Are you okay?”
    I rubbed my face. “Of course. Is she—do you know how bad it is?”
    His mouth thinned. “Concussion. Fractures. A broken leg. She got lucky. She wasn’t wearing a helmet. If she hadn’t been thrown into the bushes…” He stared down at his shirt, which he’d buttoned wrong in his haste. “Crap.” He started unbuttoning all those tiny buttons, fumbling with the holes.  
    I stepped forward, brushing his hands out of the way. “Let me.”  
    He fidgeted under my ministrations. “I need to get going.”
    “Why did they call you? Aren’t you officially divorced?”  
    “I’m still listed as her next of kin. Probably from the time she broke her arm two years ago. Her parents live in Minnesota, and her brother is in South Dakota.” His body was taut, like a violin string strung too tight, ready to break. “Dammit. I shouldn’t care. We’ve both moved on.”  
    Tentatively, awkward as hell, I put my arms around him. It was the closest I’d come to a real hug in years. Decades. He hugged me back, so fierce I thought I’d lose my ability to breathe.  
    After a moment, he stepped away with a slightly embarrassed look and ran his hands through his hair to smooth it down. “I should get going. I’ll let you know when we can pick this up again.” He grabbed his jacket out of the closet.  
    I crossed my arms over my breasts, a