“You were snoring,” he murmured against my neck.

Oh my God.

Oh no.

Snoring was bad.

I knew people who broke up with a partner who snored.

And there I was, snoring during our first sleep-together!

“Fuckin’ cute,” he kept murmuring as his fingertips slid under the elastic of my panties and skated across skin.

Oo.

That felt nice.

Apparently, my snoring wasn’t a turnoff.

My hands encountered skin too (which almost felt better, but not quite) as I whispered, “Only you would think snoring is cute.”

“Mm,” he hummed.

Okay.

He was in a mood.

And I was totally in that same mood.

Oh yeah.

My hips shifted to give nonverbal instructions to his hand.

But it only served to make Mag give verbal instructions.

“Take these off,” he growled, tracing his fingers to my hip and tugging my panties.

I did not hesitate a nanosecond.

He pulled away and removed his sling.

I got those panties gone.

He tossed the covers from us and rolled back to me.

Just…

Lower.

Oh.

My.

God.

Yes!

An important thought pushed through my sleepy-morning-sex-Mag-was-about-to-go-down-on-me haze and I started, “Your…”

I was going to finish arm but didn’t because his mouth closed over me.

Yes.

Yes.

Yesyesyesyesyes.

He was good at that.

Right from the get-go!

I slid my fingers in his awesome hair.

Mag ate me, and he did it tremendously, and he kept doing it until I exploded, bursting into molecules, and it felt so good, I didn’t care I was nothing but a loosely connected mass of happy atoms, floating in the air.

When I was still coming down, he rolled off and up to lie back on the pillows.

I rolled over and on.

“Baby,” he murmured, his hands tracking up the tops of my thighs that were straddling his hips.

“Condom,” I mumbled, sliding my hands all over his freaking phenomenal chest.

Good to look at.

Way better to touch.

“That was for you. You don’t have to—”

I put my lips to his and demanded, “Condom.”

He didn’t make me ask again.

In fact, I had to lift up because he reached to his nightstand.

He then pulled out a ribbon of condoms that, in the shadows of the rising sun (it was dawn, I still didn’t care), looked about a yard long.

I would have laughed.

But I was too focused to laugh.

I took them from him, tore one off, released it from its sleeve and took my time at his cock, gliding it on, among other things.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his hands now at my hips, thumbs digging into my hip bones, his gaze hot and bothered and roaming all over me. “Taste you. See you. Feel you. Smell you. Too much. Stop playing and claim that, Evie.”

He was good with his mouth, I wanted to give him good with my hand.

But his dick was so hard, so hot, it felt so damned good, I knew it felt even better inside, so I wanted to claim that.

Claim him.

So I did.

Positioning him, I bore down and as I did, his hips surged up.

Powerfully.

Whoa.

Wow.

He felt amazing inside, the way he filled me.

Beautiful.

I rode him and I clenched him, and I touched him with a single-minded purpose.

Mag was about dual purpose, however, his thumb finding my clit.

I bent over him again, moving on him, and shared, “I wanna watch you come.”

“Yeah, and I wanna watch you come.”

“But if I come before you come, I won’t be able to concentrate on watching you.”

His words were deep, a little rough, but amused when he noted, “This isn’t the last time we’re gonna do this, baby.”

Oh.

Right.

Well then.

Onward.

My clit was still so sensitized by him going down on me, not to mention the friction against his cock and the banging at the base, in the end, I came before he did, and I missed his show.

But.

Whatever.

I’d have another shot.

I was careful not to collapse on him when it was over. I just rested against him, making sure to shift my weight to his healthy side.

Though I did burrow my face into his neck since he smelled good.

“Your arm?” I asked.

His hands felt nice, light, sweet, and tender as they roamed my skin and he answered, “Weird, I don’t feel it when you’re fuckin’ me or I’m eating you.”

I giggled into his neck.

Then I got serious.

“You need to put the sling back on.”

“In a minute.”

“Danny—”

He wrapped one arm around me and gave me a squeeze. “In a minute, Evie. All right?”

I drew in breath, held it and let it go.

It was hard, letting that breath go, and with it, letting the conversation do the same, seeing as he hadn’t sprained it, he’d been shot, and we really shouldn’t be engaging in these activities so soon after that occurred.

Engaging in them repeatedly.

But he was a grown man.

And it was his decision.

That was something I’d learned the day before.

My decisions were my decisions.

And the people around me made their own decisions.

And those were theirs, and whatever came of that, I had to let it go.

He didn’t say anything.

I didn’t say anything.

And all of a sudden, I felt weird.

We were just lying there, still connected (though I was losing him), post sex.

Good sex.

No, great sex.

Sex during which I hadn’t thought for a second about if I was doing something he liked (or not), what he thought of my body…nothing entered my head at all but enjoying him, giving him me…

And connecting.

I knew he liked it.

I definitely knew I liked it.

It was natural.

It was like bickering with him practically the minute he first walked into my apartment. It was like giggling at him being sexy and flirty and playful over brunch. Or sitting next to him at Mexican last night, Mag with his good arm around my chair, both our chairs tucked close, me with my boyfriend, him with his woman, and we’d only really had one date.

It was us.

I didn’t know if I’d ever been an us with anybody, not even my ex.

But Mag and I had been us since the beginning.

On this realization, I relaxed against him and enjoyed the moment.

That was, I enjoyed the moment until he tightened his arm around me for a second and muttered, “Gotta clean up. Be back.”

I slid off and he slid out of bed.

I found my panties in the sheets and had them on by the time he got back.

He stood, naked and beautiful, in the dawn’s early light beside the bed and donned his shorts and sling before he got back into bed and claimed me, pressing me down his healthy side.

“Do you need a pill?” I asked.

“No. Before bed only,” he answered.

“But if you’re in pain…” I let that trail.

“Got a high threshold for pain,” he told me. “But even if I didn’t, I need sleep to heal, I need the pain gone to sleep, so before bed only and only for a few nights. Painkillers will fuck you up and my life just took a good turn, not gonna let dick fuck it up.”