his back, pulling him deeper, urging him faster. Arching, open. Waves of pleasure, building, consuming. Head back, my breath caught, held. Muscles tightened. I exploded in shattering spasms. With a groan, he pulsed into me, his body taut with pleasure.
Time stopped. Neither moved as we both tried to capture the pleasure, hold it. When Jean-Charles raised-up on his elbows, his arms shook. Leaning down, he gave me a sweet kiss. “I am still amazed at the connection between us. Our friendship, our partnership, strengthens the love.”
“The fact that you are a great kisser and have a great butt doesn’t hurt.”
He smiled as he eased down next to me, making sure our bodies, hot and slick, still pressed together. “You always do this.”
“A joke to diffuse the emotion? Yes.” I rolled into him, our faces close, our legs entwined. I nibbled on his lower lip. “Sometimes I am afraid,” I whispered, uncomfortable with my own weakness.
“Of course. Love rips us open, leaves us bare. It is the most wonderful part of life and the most devastating. I love deeply, completely. I do not wish to do this, but my heart, it is its own master. If you do not love me the same, you need to tell me this. I lost my first love. My heart, it broke. I did not know if I could go on. I cannot do this again. You and Christophe. To lose either of you … ” His face crumpled with hurt, a memory, a fear, lashed him.
My heart opened. My fear fell away. “I do love you just as you say. I’m not going anywhere.”
We both jumped at a soft knock on the door. “Papa? I am hungry.”
Jean-Charles pressed his forehead to mine as he chuckled.
“Round two will have to wait until later.”
“You have a date. This is right, non?”
“It’ll do.” I pulled the covers to my chin as he rolled off of me, taking his warmth with him.
Jean-Charles eased to the edge of the bed, leaning back to give me a deep kiss. Then he stood, stretched, and headed toward the closet. “I’m coming, Christophe.” He stepped into a pair of gym shorts, then tugged a T-shirt over his head, working his arms through the holes. “What do you want to eat?”
“Lucky’s happy-face pancakes. She will make them.” A small boy with no shortage of confidence, he had adopted his father’s habit of making a question into a demand. Sentence structure—one of the casualties of segueing from one language to another.
Jean-Charles gave me a lopsided smile and a shrug. “She needs to get to work,” he said in answer to his son. Then turning to me, he said, “Even though it is Sunday, I can see the ‘I have things to do’ look on your face.”
“And forego pancakes and little boys?” I threw the covers back and rolled to my feet.
Jean-Charles’s eyes lazily roamed what he’d already had. Admiration lit his smile. He took a deep breath. “A high price, indeed. The cleaners delivered all your clothes back. I hung them in the closet. Now, you, to the shower, before I change my mind.”
“Promises. Promises.”
Sunday morning. December. Christmas right around the corner. And Teddie had dropped coal into my stocking. Fixing his problems would go a long way toward restoring my holiday cheer. Get him out of jail, then he could get out of my life. Better for both of us.
Daniel Lovato, our esteemed District Attorney, if he still adhered to his normal schedule, would be taking his daughter, Gabi, to play at the playground just off the Summerlin Parkway, which was on my way.
With the Ferrari grumbling at having to idle through the neighborhoods to maintain the child-friendly speed, I tried to absorb the warmth of the sun to chase the chill away. Murder did that to me. And this wouldn’t be Daniel’s and my first murder. We’d crossed swords over the murder of a particularly
Time stopped. Neither moved as we both tried to capture the pleasure, hold it. When Jean-Charles raised-up on his elbows, his arms shook. Leaning down, he gave me a sweet kiss. “I am still amazed at the connection between us. Our friendship, our partnership, strengthens the love.”
“The fact that you are a great kisser and have a great butt doesn’t hurt.”
He smiled as he eased down next to me, making sure our bodies, hot and slick, still pressed together. “You always do this.”
“A joke to diffuse the emotion? Yes.” I rolled into him, our faces close, our legs entwined. I nibbled on his lower lip. “Sometimes I am afraid,” I whispered, uncomfortable with my own weakness.
“Of course. Love rips us open, leaves us bare. It is the most wonderful part of life and the most devastating. I love deeply, completely. I do not wish to do this, but my heart, it is its own master. If you do not love me the same, you need to tell me this. I lost my first love. My heart, it broke. I did not know if I could go on. I cannot do this again. You and Christophe. To lose either of you … ” His face crumpled with hurt, a memory, a fear, lashed him.
My heart opened. My fear fell away. “I do love you just as you say. I’m not going anywhere.”
We both jumped at a soft knock on the door. “Papa? I am hungry.”
Jean-Charles pressed his forehead to mine as he chuckled.
“Round two will have to wait until later.”
“You have a date. This is right, non?”
“It’ll do.” I pulled the covers to my chin as he rolled off of me, taking his warmth with him.
Jean-Charles eased to the edge of the bed, leaning back to give me a deep kiss. Then he stood, stretched, and headed toward the closet. “I’m coming, Christophe.” He stepped into a pair of gym shorts, then tugged a T-shirt over his head, working his arms through the holes. “What do you want to eat?”
“Lucky’s happy-face pancakes. She will make them.” A small boy with no shortage of confidence, he had adopted his father’s habit of making a question into a demand. Sentence structure—one of the casualties of segueing from one language to another.
Jean-Charles gave me a lopsided smile and a shrug. “She needs to get to work,” he said in answer to his son. Then turning to me, he said, “Even though it is Sunday, I can see the ‘I have things to do’ look on your face.”
“And forego pancakes and little boys?” I threw the covers back and rolled to my feet.
Jean-Charles’s eyes lazily roamed what he’d already had. Admiration lit his smile. He took a deep breath. “A high price, indeed. The cleaners delivered all your clothes back. I hung them in the closet. Now, you, to the shower, before I change my mind.”
“Promises. Promises.”
Sunday morning. December. Christmas right around the corner. And Teddie had dropped coal into my stocking. Fixing his problems would go a long way toward restoring my holiday cheer. Get him out of jail, then he could get out of my life. Better for both of us.
Daniel Lovato, our esteemed District Attorney, if he still adhered to his normal schedule, would be taking his daughter, Gabi, to play at the playground just off the Summerlin Parkway, which was on my way.
With the Ferrari grumbling at having to idle through the neighborhoods to maintain the child-friendly speed, I tried to absorb the warmth of the sun to chase the chill away. Murder did that to me. And this wouldn’t be Daniel’s and my first murder. We’d crossed swords over the murder of a particularly
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