“I don’t,” he admitted. “I told him I’d give it a try this week. Just one assignment to see how it feels. He’s going to give me a car to use. I guess he’s got an agreement with a rental company. He prefers not to use his own truck when he’s watching people or running around, so he’ll give the same to me while I’m working.”

  “Is that what you want? Are you really okay with this?” I don’t have solutions to his problems, and I really don’t want him to feel like anything I’m going through should factor into his decisions. If he wants my car, it’s his. Other than taking Mia to and from school, which I’m fully cleared to do now, I have no place to be next week.

  “It is,” he says. “The money will help a lot, and who knows. Maybe I can do it short-term. Until I get the construction stuff off the ground.”

  He sounds okay with it, but I’m not sure. I decide not to press him. He knows what he can and cannot stomach. I leave him with one last thought.

  “Crow,” I say, “I’m really glad you’re thinking about options for the future, but I had a more short-term project I was hoping to get your help with.”

  He cocks his chin, those dark-chocolate eyes staring through to my soul. “Yeah? What’d you have in mind?”

  “I’ve got this itch I just can’t scratch,” I say quietly.

  “Want me to try to find it?” he asks, his voice every bit as low as mine.

  “Please?”

  He puts his hands on my hips and guides me back into the position I was in before, tucked in between the length of his legs. I lean my back against his chest and close my eyes.

  “Is it here?” he asks, trailing his fingers along the tops of my shoulders.

  “No,” I whisper, my voice growing husky. “Keep trying.”

  “Here?” He’s stroking my arms, his large hands sliding over my skin. I look down at those perfect sparrows on his hands as they flutter down my body.

  “Nuh-huh,” I say.

  “Any place I can’t check?” he rasps. I can feel him hardening behind me, and I stifle a thrilled grin at the way his body responds to me.

  “Babe. I’m all yours.”

  He groans softly but keeps the pace light and the pressure even. He works his fingertips into my shoulders and trails his fingers gently over the front of my throat before working his way down to the front of my blouse. I arch my back slightly, my nipples aching with need. He traces his fingertips over the hard tips so lightly I can hardly feel anything but a tease. I squirm as heat floods my core, and I strain against my blouse, desperate for more.

  “Birdie.” His breath is hot against my ear as he cups my breasts in his hands. “Do you like this?”

  “God yes,” I breathe.

  It’s not a matter of liking anything.

  When he circles the weight of my breasts with his hands, his fingers pinching and twisting my nipples, I start to come undone. My mouth opens, and I’m breathing fast, need and arousal making everything cloudy. I throw my head back against his chest and give in to the sensation, losing all sense of time and space. My body, so often my enemy, takes over, pleasure spreading through my limbs. I wiggle my hips, trying to get closer to him, and I hold my hands over his, increasing the exquisite pressure on my breasts.

  “Birdie…” His breaths are coming heavy now too, and the tension I feel against my back grows to an uncomfortable point.

  “Crow,” I huff. “Let’s take this upstairs.”

  13

  CROW

  I follow Birdie upstairs. My thoughts are racing, but the tsunami in my chest is more than just fear and anxiety. Unlike in the past when I was content to get off and get a girl off, this isn’t like those other times. This is about so much more. This is about Birdie. About us.

  I can’t overthink things for too long, though, because by the time we get to the top of the stairs, Birdie is reaching for my hand and dragging me into her room.

  “Are you okay?” she asks. “Is this too soon?”

  “Too soon?” I shake my head, emotions crashing in my chest like waves on a stormy sea. “Baby, I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime for you.”

  We stand beside her bed, just looking at each other. I reach for her hand and pull her close. She tucks her head against my chest, and I just breathe in the scent of her.

  “Crow,” she whispers. “I-I have to bring something up…”

  “What?” I growl, but it’s restrained. My sense of protectiveness for this woman takes over. As much as I want her for myself, I pull back and look into her eyes, concern warring with the excitement of anticipation and desire. “What is it? Do you have a headache? Because we can stop—”

  “No.” Her smile is a little shy. “It’s been so long, I don’t even know if I have condoms in the house. If I do, they’re probably so old they’re brittle.”

  My shoulders relax and I nod. Right. And also, shit.

  “That’s okay,” I tell her. “I was tested for everything under the sun when I was inside. Haven’t been with anyone but my right hand in years. I’m okay without if you are.” I can’t deny I want her. Badly enough to be reckless? Enough to make short-term decisions with long-term consequences? This is one time, one situation where I’m going to follow someone else’s lead. “Birdie?” I whisper. “This is all you. What do you want?”

  “God, I want you,” she sighs, dropping her forehead against my chest. Her words are soft but clear. “It’s the pregnancy thing,” she says. “I’ve got a one-for-one track record getting knocked up when I’m even the tiniest bit careless.”

  Mia… Right, of course. “Okay. What do you want to do?” I ask.

  She fists my shirt and tugs my face close to hers. Her breath is soft against my lips. “Be creative,” she suggests. “Until we have protection.”

  “I can do creative,” I say. I wrap a hand behind her neck and nip her lower lip. “I’ll do creative forever if it means being with you.”

  “Crow?” she gasps, a seductive smile on her lips. “I’ve been wanting to do this for…maybe since I first met you.”

  Before I can say anything, how the scent of her has haunted my dreams, how she’s the best thing about being free again, the only thing I look forward to and the reason I can climb out of bed in the morning and face the bullshit and beauty of another day, Birdie is unfastening the buttons of my shirt. Her fingers are moving slowly, almost like she’s nervous. Every button, every inch, my heart is pounding harder in my chest, until I’m sure she’ll be able to feel the beat through my skin.

  When she finally tugs the fabric over my arms and drops it on the bedside table, she looks at my chest for a moment, a girlish grin on her face. She trails her fingers over my pecs, the sensation sending shock waves of heat through my body.

  “You’re fucking hot,” she says. “Phew.”

  I shake my head, but my grin’s stretching from ear to ear. “Look who’s talking,” I mutter, but the words fade into a heated moan when she plants her lips on my sternum.

  She kisses from my pecs to my stomach, her lips soft and her breath hot. She trails the tip of her tongue along my skin, and while it should cool me, her touch sends my body into overdrive. I’m hot, I’m shaking, and I’m in danger of losing control. Every flick of her tongue feels so, so good, and she’s pushing me onto the bed so she can taste more of my skin with her mouth.

  I’m lying on my back, my legs spread wide, and all I can see is Birdie. Birdie’s arms braced on the bed as she kisses every inch of my torso and belly. Birdie’s smile as she straddles my hips and leans close to tap my nose with hers.

  “God, Crow, you taste so delicious,” she croons, before crushing my mouth with hers.

  This kiss is frantic, a desperate, hungry tangle of tongues and lips, our teeth tapping against each other as we deepen the kiss. My hands fisting her hair, her hands cradling the sides of my face so we’re connected in every possible way we can touch each other until we have to break apart, breathless and needing air.

  “Crow,” she pants. Her lips are swollen, her chin red from the scrape of my stubble against her. “I want you so bad.”

  I flip her onto her back, tugging her blouse away and tossing it aside a lot less carefully than she did mine.

  “Sorry,” I pant, “I don’t have your patience.”

  I stare down at her, her dark hair spilling over the pillows, her stormy eyes clearer than I’ve ever seen them. Her nipples are so hard they look like they’re going to cut through the nearly transparent fabric of her bra, and for a moment, I just look at her. I don’t touch, but I savor the woman she is. Her beauty. Her trust.

  We’re in a nearly dark room, the little light there is allowing me to see how much this woman wants me. Just like I want her. We’re safe. We have a roof over our heads. And there’s nothing to do but pleasure each other. Learn each other’s secrets. All the ones we haven’t yet been able to share.

  I don’t have the words for the storm of emotions and sensations fighting in my body and heart to take over, but it turns out, I don’t need to say or do a thing. Birdie arches her back and reaches behind her to unfasten the clasp on her bra. She’s shoving the straps down her arms and saying, “I’m so glad we met, Crow. Who would have thought one of the hardest days of my life so far would bring me one of the best things that’s ever happened?”

  “Me?” I grit out.

  My heart would probably explode even if she weren’t bare before me, her full breasts and nipples hard and looking sweet enough to eat.

  “You,” she confirms.

  I lower my head and draw one nipple into my mouth, slowly working my tongue over the hard tip. The taste of her is better than the sweetest juice, more powerful than the burn of the best whiskey I’ve ever sipped. She is heat and light, fire and sweetness, and I work her peaks with my mouth like her body itself can give me life.

  She squirms and gasps with pleasure, and I respond to her every movement and moan, flicking and sucking until she’s scratching my back and pushing her chest against me. She tears her fingers through my hair and pulls my face impossibly close to her breast. I kiss the fullness of it, nip the peak with my teeth, suck as much of the plush fullness into my mouth, every sound she makes like gasoline thrown on my fire.

  I stop to claim her mouth again, sending my fingers on a journey to unfasten her pants. She kisses me back roughly, sitting up and helping me undo the belt and zipper. She leans back, and I wrestle the denim so I can see her, all of her. Her panties come away with the jeans, so she’s lying on her back fully naked, her legs slightly shaking and her breasts bright pink from the rough love of my chin and teeth and lips. What I wouldn’t do to feast on her this way every day. Always. There are no limits, no resistance with Birdie. She wants me as much as I want her, the desire emanating from her in waves.

  “Anything off-limits?” I grit out. I want to learn her pleasure, every twist and stroke and lick and how to dial into her desire, but that’s gonna take time. Before we even start the trip, I wanna know where the boundaries are.

  “I’m yours,” she whispers. “Anything you want.”

  My entire body starts to vibrate like a plucked string at her open invitation. I soak up her body first with my eyes. Her thighs, her knees slightly together, the long, slim muscles tense as she curls her hands into the sheet. If her body is a banquet, I want to skip everything else and start with the dark mound of curls that sits enticingly like the main course.

  Her thighs are hot under my hands as I stroke and knead the skin. I feel my way from the tops of her legs to her knees, cupping the tight muscles of her calves in my palms. I settle between her legs and spread them wide, swallowing the last bit of fear, the last bit of rational thought that’s got my mind in a tailspin.

  Stop thinking. Just feel.

  I start with my fingers, parting the curls and teasing my way lower. Her tiny sighs sound first like surprise and wonder, but they quickly change into heated gasps. I move slowly past the V of her lips, dragging my fingers through her juices. She’s so wet, I stroke her folds and dampen my fingertips so that when I find that tight bundle, I can work slippery circles around her bud.

  It doesn’t take me long to find her sweet spot. She cries out my name and her legs twitch, so I ease back and take my time, drawing lazy circles over her clit. I may have been in a rush to get here, but now that I am, I’m taking my time.

  “Crow, oh my God, right there… So good.” She starts to work her hips back and forth in time with my touch, so I keep my thumb on her clit to apply a little pressure while I slide my middle finger inside her.

  She bucks against my hand, so I swap my thumb for my tongue and lick her clit in time with long, slow strokes along her walls with my fingers.

  “Logan,” she pants, my real name sounding like a love song on her lips.

  Her breath, her cries, the shaking of her entire body when she climaxes, send my body into a frenzy. My dick is so hard, the tip is already weeping, and my balls are tight against my body. While she rides out her orgasm, her legs tight around me, I can taste the peachy-sweet juices of her release on my tongue.

  I don’t move a muscle, just rest my cheek against her damp thigh, my fingers still planted deep inside her, while she strokes my hair with weak fingers.

  She groans when she shifts, trying to sit up. “Well, if that’s getting creative… Oh, Crow…”

  I climb to the top of the bed and cuddle her to my chest, but she’s giving me a sultry look and moving onto her hands and knees. “Snuggle later.”

  I’m still wearing my jeans and socks, so together, we peel off my clothes and drop them on the floor. In a slow, methodical way, Birdie explores my body with her eyes.

  “You have so many more tattoos,” she whispers. “So many more stories.”

  I chuckle. I do, but the way my dick is stabbing the air, I don’t think I could answer any questions if she asked them. I don’t think I can say my own name when Birdie’s hand goes right for my dick. She strokes the shaft, her fingers light, and then she grips it more firmly in her hand and lowers her mouth. When her lips touch the head with hot, breathy kisses and sweet, light licks, the blast of electricity nearly sends my body through the ceiling.

  But I quickly adjust to the sensation of her mouth on me. Her soft hair spills over my belly and thighs, and when I can manage to keep my eyes open, I can see her full breasts bounce as she takes my length into her mouth.

  I gasp, then utter a stream of curses as her tongue, light and so wet, works around the head, while her hand grips my shaft. I want this to be slow, sexy. I want to take all she’s willing to give and then some, but way, way too soon, I’m trembling and warning her she might want to pull away.

  But she stays, and I release in her mouth, a sensation so foreign and intense that I lose control of my body. I’m thrashing and moaning, my hands going weak in her hair until, finally, I crash my head back against the wall, dripping sweat and breathless.

  She excuses herself to the bathroom and returns just a few moments later. She climbs into bed beside me with a dry hand towel in her hands. She blots my forehead of sweat, then sets the towel aside and cuddles up beside me.

  I hold her close, and for long minutes, neither one of us says a word. There’s a heat in the air of the room, thick with the scent of our releases but so, so sweet. But the weirdest feeling of all is how familiar it all is. How she feels made to fit against my bare chest, her slim arms perfectly slung over my belly, her damp hair clinging to my skin. She strokes the hair on my belly until her hand goes still. She’s dozing quietly, her breathing even, her chest rising and falling in an almost perfect rhythm with mine.

  I’m satisfied and happy, my body relaxed and my mind at ease. But despite how perfect this is, how good and safe and free I feel, I don’t sleep. I just lie there, in her dark bedroom, and exist in the moment I never, ever want to end.

  I wake up the next morning to a call. My phone is deep in the pockets of my jeans, the ringer going off like something’s on fire. Incessant and irritating.

  Birdie is naked beside me, one of her thighs tucked between mine. We’re in the most complicated position I can remember ever actually sleeping in, and I curse at the damn phone, figuring it’ll stop before it wakes up Birdie, but whoever’s calling has an urgent need to fuck up my Sunday morning or a total disregard for getting their ear blasted with obscenities—probably both, because whoever it is doesn’t leave a voice mail, but they do call back.

  “Motherfuck…” I whisper against Birdie’s hair and climb over her. I lean over the side of the bed, refusing to drag myself away from her long, naked limbs, and grab my jeans. The phone is blowing up in the pocket when I finally answer it with a bark.

  “What?” I demand, not giving a shit who it is.

  “Yo, man, it’s me. We got to roll.”

  I hold the phone away and check the time. “Arrow, it’s not even eight on a fucking Sunday. What the fuck, man?”

  “The client I want help with is on the move today. I got a message from the wife that her husband was up early. I’m at the car rental place now, setting up an account for you. How soon can you be here?”

  I groan and look back at Birdie. She’s rubbing her face and rolling over in bed. The last thing I want to do is leave this. Leave her. Mia is probably going to be with Alice and Morris until, at the earliest, late morning… I mean, kids at sleepovers usually stay up late and wake up late, right? If I stay, Birdie and I can repeat last night once, twice, who knows how many times before we need to be anywhere.

  “Crow? Man, you got a ride here?”

  I sigh. While I don’t relish the idea of ending what was the most amazing night of the last decade—fuck, maybe of my life—if I want more nights like that, I need to provide. I need to take steps to be the man I want to be in every way, not just a fuck machine who thinks with his dick. As easy as doing exactly that could be with Birdie, her sleep-mussed hair barely covering her breasts.

  “Give me a half hour,” I tell him. “I’ll figure it out.”