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“That speech you gave was incredible,” the young woman—Ruthie, according to her nametag—said as she slid a keycard across the counter. “Really, you all are making such a difference.” She looked at Benson and shook her head. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be to do what you do, every day…” Almost as an afterthought, she looked at Barba, who was standing off to Benson’s side, and added, “And you, too. I know lawyers get a bum rap, sometimes, but the things you said in there, about believing victims—you made me cry, I’m not gonna lie.”
Barba opened his mouth, but Ruthie had already turned her attention back to Benson, so he kept his silence and looked down at his phone.
“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call down,” Ruthie said, as Benson picked up the keycard and her driver’s license.
“Thank you,” the lieutenant said. “It’s been a long day, so all I need now is a quiet room and a hot shower.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Barba look up at her, but he quickly dropped his gaze back to his phone as she gathered up her things and started to turn toward him.
It had been a long day, and they’d barely arrived in time for the speeches; they’d had to stow their luggage in the back of the conference center, as they hadn’t even had time to check into their rooms before taking the stage to give their joint presentation. While Benson was proud to have worked with Barba to achieve the highest conviction rate in their city, and she couldn’t deny the thrill she got from watching him work his magic on the crowd of eager listeners, she was ready to slip into her room, kick off her shoes, and relax.
She missed Noah, but she meant to enjoy a night away—in a quiet hotel room, all to herself, with no one wandering in to ask for a glass of water or complain of a bad dream. And, she wasn’t going to allow herself to feel guilty about it, either. At least, not too guilty.
She was on her phone, texting Lucy to make sure everything was going alright at home, when Barba said, “You might as well go on ahead.”
She glanced up, then back at her phone. “That’s alright, I’ll wait,” she said, as he handed his identification and card to Ruthie.
“That’s…weird,” the young woman said after a moment, tapping away at her keyboard while she frowned at the computer screen.
“Weird?” Barba repeated, and Benson could hear the carefully-controlled impatience in his voice. She looked up, sliding her phone into her pocket. “Is there a problem?” Barba asked after several moments of wordless typing.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Barba, but I don’t seem to have a reservation for you,” Ruthie said, as she slid his license and card toward him.
He looked down at the items, and Benson could see a muscle tic as he clenched his jaw. He took a breath, and said, quietly, “There must be a mistake, my assistant booked a room weeks ago. Could you check again?”
“I’m sorry, sir, there’s nothing under this name.”
Benson was tempted to laugh at the look on Barba’s face, but she managed to suppress the urge. “Surely you can just check him into another room,” she suggested, although she’d already surmised—as had Barba, of course—that the ceremonial returning-of-the-debit-card act was not a good sign.
“I’m so sorry, of course I would, but we’re all booked up because of the conference. You guys drew such a big crowd!” she added with a smile.
Benson put a hand on Barba’s arm, sensing his growing irritation, and he glanced at her. She saw him make an effort to calm himself. “You knew we were coming—didn’t anyone check to make sure we had rooms?”
Still smiling, but with a bite in her voice, Ruthie answered, “Didn’t your…assistant confirm the reservation?”
Barba opened his mouth, but Benson cut him off: “You’re certain there aren’t any other rooms available? Maybe a cancellation, or…someone checking out early? We don’t mind waiting.”
“I’m very sorry, Ms. Benson,” Ruthie said, shaking her head. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“What’s the next closest hotel?” Barba asked. His phone was in his hand, and Benson saw him calling Carmen.
“I don’t think you’ll find anything this late,” Ruthie said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Barba, you’re not going to another hotel,” Benson said.
He lifted the phone to his ear, listening to it ring, as he glared at Benson. She glared back, even though she was still amused. He could tell that she was amused, too, which made his scowl deepen. When the call went to voicemail, he muttered under his breath, typing out a quick text to his assistant.
“Barba,” Benson said.
“I’m not going to sleep in the lobby, Liv,” he said. Then, in disbelief: “Sorry?” He held the phone up, turning the screen toward Benson. Carmen’s almost-instantaneous response to his text: I’m sorry about that. Nothing else. In spite of herself, Benson finally laughed. She couldn’t help it. The mixture of incredulity and indignation on his face was just too hilarious. “I’m going to fire her,” he said.
“No, you’re not,” she answered, smiling at him.
“Too bad I can’t fire you,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes at her, and she laughed again, shaking her head. “Seriously, why the hell—”
“Quit being a baby,” she said, and his mouth snapped shut. “You’re not sleeping in the lobby and you’re not going to another hotel. Grab your stuff, come on.”
“I’m real sorry about this, I wish there was something I could do,” Ruthie said.
“Wish in one hand and—”
“Barba!” Benson said, suppressing the giggles threatening to bubble up within her.
Pasting a smile onto his face, he told Ruthie, with just a hint of sarcasm, “Has sido muy útil, muchas gracias,” as he gathered his things from the counter and stuffed them back into his wallet. He snatched his suitcase and briefcase from the floor and turned toward Benson. “No aprecio la risa,” he said.
She wasn’t intimidated by his frown. “And I don’t appreciate the dirty look,” she countered. “It’s not my fault Carmen forgot to book your room.”
“She didn’t forget, Carmen doesn’t forget anything,” he said, as they walked toward the elevator. “I swear, if she—Where are we going?”
“We’re going to my room—which I guess is now our room,” she answered as the elevator doors slid open. She moved aside to let people exit, and then stepped into the empty car. Barba stood in the lobby, staring in at her. “For crying out loud, Barba.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Rafael Barba being rendered speechless was a rare occurrence, but she was too tired to really enjoy it.
The doors started to close, and she reached out an arm to stop them. “Rafael,” she said, her irritation growing.
“Liv, I—”
“Get in,” she said.
He sighed and stepped into the elevator with his bags, glancing sideways at her as he bit his lip. She punched the button for their floor and they watched the doors close. As the elevator started moving upward, he muttered, “This is unprofessional.”
“You can sue them later,” she said.
He snorted, shaking his head, and she was glad that he was at least starting to see some humor in the situation. Her relaxing night alone had already grown more crowded; she had no desire to fill it with bickering, too. “Sorry about this, Liv,” he said, quietly.
“It’s fine,” she answered. “You think Carmen sent you here without a reservation on purpose? Why would she do that?”
“You don’t want to know,” he muttered.
“What does—” He looked at her, arching one brow, and she broke off, realization dawning. “Oh,” she said, with a flutter of something like nervousness in her stomach. She was suddenly flustered—as uncommon for her as speechlessness was for Barba.
“Like I said, sorry,” he said, as the doors opened on their floor. He held out his arm, briefcase in hand, to block the door while she stepped out with her suitcase, and then he followed her into the hallway. “Do you have the legal right to commandeer a room?”
She laughed, looking at him as they walked side by side. “I think you know the answer to that,” she said. “And if you don’t, I guess I should find myself another ADA.”
“You could,” he agreed, nodding. “Who am I to stop you from settling for second-best?”
“Oh,” she said, laughing again. “There’s that famous Rafael Barba ego.”
He grinned. “Are we or are we not here because of my conviction rate?”
She pursed her lips, tipping her head, and said, “Why am I here, then?”
Smirking, he suggested: “Moral support?”
“On second thought, feel free to sleep in the lobby,” she said, and he was chuckling when they drew up in front of the room. She pulled out her keycard and unlocked the door. As soon as she stepped inside and turned on the light, her eyes fell on the foot of bed and she felt another flutter—not nervousness, not exactly, but she didn’t want to examine it too closely—in her stomach. She walked into the room, suddenly very aware of Barba’s presence behind her in the narrow entrance. The bathroom was on the right, and she set her suitcase near the door.
She walked the rest of the way into the room and put the keycard on the counter beside the television. “Nice place,” she joked, and she heard his quiet laugh behind her.
She turned to find him looking at the bed. He cleared his throat and quickly moved toward the table, sliding his briefcase onto the shiny wood. He set his suitcase on the floor and then just stood there, looking uncertain of what was expected of him.
Benson smiled. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “Why don’t you find someplace to deliver, I’m starving.” She headed toward the bathroom, kicking her shoes off near the end of the bed with relief.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Surprise me,” she said, slipping into the bathroom with her suitcase.
After she’d closed the door, she stood at the sink, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “Don’t even think about it,” she muttered, shaking her head. And she wasn’t, not really. She was doing her best to keep the traitorous thoughts away.
As she got undressed, however, she was acutely aware of his presence on the other side of one thin wall. She looked at the door; she’d left it unlocked, because there seemed to be no reason to do otherwise. There was no chance that he would barge into the room—she trusted him, but in that moment, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself because, in spite of her best intentions, she found herself wondering what could happen if he did.
She turned on the shower, and knew that he could hear the water—and knew that he was certainly, in spite of his best intentions, thinking about her being naked with just one thin wall between them. She could almost see him, glancing nervously around the room, fidgeting, unsure what to do with himself, feeling guilty for his thoughts but unable to stop them. His discomfort, even in her imagination, made her smile, and helped her relax. She stepped into the hot spray of water and drew the curtain.
As she let the water cascade over her, caressing her skin, she allowed her thoughts to stray. What difference did it make? No one would ever know but her. She would certainly never tell anyone—especially him. Besides, if she were being honest with herself, she could admit that it wasn’t the first time she’d considered such things; it was just the first time she’d done so, standing naked in the shower, while he was in the next room.
She laughed quietly, shaking her head as the steam swirled up around her. Poor Barba would turn fifty shades of red if he could read her thoughts.
* * *
She was getting dressed when she heard the knock on the door. For a moment, she thought it was the bathroom door, and she froze, one leg in her sweatpants, filled with conflicting emotions. Before she could fully sort out what she wanted—open the door, almost naked? Or not?—she realized that it was the main door. She heard Barba walk past, heard him open the door, heard him talking in a low voice—and she quickly finished getting dressed.
She swiped the steam from the mirror and did her best to towel dry her hair, but the room was like a sauna in spite of the humming ventilation fan. Her sweatpants and t-shirt were already clinging to her, so she reached over and opened the door, needing to let in some fresh air.
Still drying her hair with one hand, she pulled her suitcase out into the room; the air felt chilly against her overheated, damp skin, and she shivered. She looked up and met Barba’s eyes, and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. He was sitting in one of the chairs at the table, with a white pizza box beside him. He’d taken off his suit jacket, unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie.
His eyes flicked down the length of her body, and she saw him swallow. She stood there, frozen, one arm raised with a towel to her hair, her pajamas clinging to her skin, and suddenly she was blushing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed in front of a man, any man, and this was Barba, for crying out loud. If he knew what she’d been thinking in the shower, if he could read her thoughts on her face, he’d be mortified.
Even so, he looked just as flustered as she felt; she took both comfort and pleasure from that.
He cleared his throat and looked away, glancing around the room. “I ordered pizza, I hope that’s alright,” he said, gesturing unnecessarily toward the box. “Sausage and mushroom.”
She found that she had to clear her throat, as well. “Sounds perfect,” she managed, lowering the towel to her side. “Thanks.”
He stood quickly, grabbing his bag. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to—” He nodded toward the bathroom, meeting her eyes for just a moment before looking away.
“Of course, yeah,” she said, stepping aside so he could pass.
“I won’t be long,” he said. “Go ahead and eat before it gets cold.”
She watched him disappear into the bathroom and click the door closed. She let out a breath, and a little laugh, and raised the towel back to her hair. Her stomach rumbled at the thought, and scent, of pizza, but she resisted the call of food, choosing to wait until he could join her.
She sat on the foot of the bed, drying the ends of her hair, trying to convince herself not to listen for sounds of him undressing in the next room. She heard him turn on the shower, and then she couldn’t help it—she couldn’t help but imagine him in there, standing under the water as she’d done a short time ago. Naked. Wet. Hot.
She made a sound in her throat, and considered slapping herself; she deserved it.
* * *
Barba stood in the shower, silently cursing himself for thinking about the fact that Benson had, just minutes earlier, been standing completely naked in the same spot he was currently standing. He could still smell the lingering aroma of her shampoo, which she must’ve brought with her.
He hated himself for the thoughts, and he hated his body for reacting with a flush of desire. He turned and cranked the right knob, hissing in a breath as the water temperature dropped. The cold spray bit at his skin, and he clenched his jaw, accepting the punishment.
He washed himself quickly, refusing to let his hands linger in spite of the temptation; he might not be able to govern his thoughts, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would disrespect her—even in his own mind, even when she would never know—like that.
He washed his hair with the hotel shampoo, and was out of the shower in just a few minutes.
He normally slept in boxers, but he was thankful that he’d packed a pair of flannel pajama bottoms as a precaution—he’d slept in enough hotels with out-of-whack heating units to know that it was a good idea to come prepared. He pulled on his boxers and pajama bottoms, and a white undershirt, all the while cursing the steam pressing in on him.
He pulled the door open, dabbed on a tiny bit of cologne—he didn’t let himself think about it—and ran a comb through his wet hair. When he emerged from the bathroom with his suitcase, he found her sitting on the bed, propped against the headboard with two pillows behind her back. She had her glasses on and was reading something on her phone, but she looked up at him when he walked out. Her eyes dropped to his white shirt, translucent against his skin from the damp heat of the bathroom.
“Did you eat?” he asked.
“No, I was waiting for you,” she said.
He was touched by that, because he knew that she was hungry. “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks,” he said, walking over to the table. He flipped open the box and pulled out a slice of pizza, putting it on a napkin. He turned and handed it to her; their fingers brushed as she took it, and their eyes met.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “I called down and had them send up a bottle of wine. They owe us.”
“It’s not their fault, it’s Carmen’s,” he said with a smile.
“Even so,” she said, also smiling. “I gave them a guilt-trip. It should be here any—” There was a knock, and she raised her eyebrows. “—second,” she finished. Barba grabbed his wallet off the table and went to answer the door. When he returned a few moments later with a bottle of cheap wine held in his hands, she said, “I hope you didn’t tip them too well for that.”
“Don’t worry, I gave him a dirty look while I paid him,” Barba answered as he pulled the wrapping from one of the clear plastic cups beside the ice bucket. “Do you want me to go get ice for this?” he asked as he popped the cork with his thumb.
“Is it cold?”
“Not remotely,” he answered.
She wrinkled her nose. “Lukewarm, cheap wine? Sounds perfect. Fill the cup.”
Grinning, he did as she bid, and handed her the drink. "At least it didn't require a corkscrew," he said.
"At least it's not a twist-off cap," she countered.
He poured himself half a cup and sat at the table, taking out a second slice of pizza. “Everything good with Noah and Lucy?” he asked before taking a bite.
She met his eyes, smiling. She wanted to thank him for asking, but it was unnecessary; he knew what it meant to her. “Yes, she’s just putting him to bed.”
He picked up his watch from the table, checking the time. “I didn’t realize it was that late already,” he said.
She laughed. “He’s five, he goes to bed pretty early,” she said. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to, yet.”
He looked up and their eyes met again. “Early or not, I could sleep,” he said. “Like you said, it’s been a long day.”
She turned her attention to her pizza. “Me, too,” she said, taking another bite before she could say anything else.
He seemed to be debating whether or not to say something. She washed down the pizza with a mouthful of wine, waiting, not looking at him. Finally, he said, “Obviously, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She laughed, turning her head toward him. “Obviously, you won’t,” she countered. She watched him fidget for a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rafa,” she finally said, quietly. “We’re adults. We’re friends. There’s no reason this needs to be awkward.” No reason, so long as you don’t guess what I’ve been thinking, she thought.
He considered, looking at his pizza, and she thought she could see a flush darkening his cheeks. Was he blushing, now? Why were they acting like a couple of teenagers?
She reached over and picked up the remote control from the nightstand. “Come sit over here,” she told him. “Let’s watch something.”
“Liv,” he said, and she met his eyes. He chewed his lip for a moment, a small frown on his forehead. “You know I didn’t…I mean, I wouldn’t have—”
“Of course not,” she said. “We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you—if we didn’t trust each other.”
They stared at each other. They both knew that she wasn’t just talking about the room, or about sharing a bed. She meant all of it: the convention, the presentation, the conviction rate, the years of cases they’d worked together. They’d laughed together; they’d cried together; they’d been angry together, and they’d been angry with each other; they’d supported and defended each other, and they’d snapped at each other. Through it all, they’d always trusted each other, and she didn’t think anything would ever change that.
“Do you want more?” he asked, pointing a finger toward the pizza.
She shook her head. She’d been hungry, but after one slice, she was more tired than anything else. He’d finished his, and held out a hand for her napkin. She gave it to him with a smile, watching him toss it in the garbage can. “Here, find something good,” she said, setting the remote on the bedspread. “I’m going to brush my teeth before I fall asleep.” She swallowed the last of her wine and, setting the cup on the nightstand, slipped off the bed and went into the bathroom.
When she returned a few minutes later, he was sitting on the end of the bed, remote held loosely between his knees, watching the news. “There’s a movie starting in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He stood, grabbing the toothbrush and paste that he’d retrieved from his luggage in her absence.
She pulled the covers back and slid into the bed. The sheets were cool and slippery, and she already knew that she’d be sleeping before long. She would likely be up early, or even in the middle of the night, but she didn’t care. She propped herself against her pillow and pulled the covers up to her waist before turning down the blankets on the other side of the bed.
Barba came out of the bathroom and looked at the turned-down comforter. The movie had started, but she had the volume turned low. Barba glanced at the television and walked around the bed, without looking at Benson. She wondered if he was going to balk, but he didn’t. He sat on the edge of the bed, swung his legs up, and pulled the covers over his waist.
She could smell his cologne, and his toothpaste, mingled with the scent of pizza, and she wanted to shift closer to him. She resisted the urge, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. She turned the volume up a bit so they could better hear the movie.
As they sat side by side, watching TV, she felt her tension sliding away. They’d always enjoyed each other’s company, and had spent more time together over the years than she could even begin to tally. It was ridiculous to feel awkward around one another, no matter what inappropriate things they may have considered.
By the time the movie was half over, Benson was drowsy and barely able to keep her eyes open. She’d relaxed against her pillows; Barba’s scent was no longer distracting, but comforting. His warmth beside her was soothing. She could defend herself, of course, but having him beside her made her feel safe, protected. She knew that nothing was going to happen between them, and that was a comfort, too, because it allowed her to let go of her nervousness.
He might want her; he did want her, just as she wanted him. She knew it, she could sense it. But he would do nothing to act on that desire, and she could sense him relaxing beside her, too, giving in to the comfort of the bed and the sense of companionship.
She yawned. “You can finish the movie if you want,” she said. “It won’t bother me, but I’m gonna—”
“Yeah, no, I’ll shut it off,” he said, grabbing the remote. Once the screen went black, darkness surrounded them. They sat for a few moments, listening to their breaths and the sounds of the hotel. She thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t.
She shifted further down in the bed, the crisp sheets whispering against her legs. “Goodnight, Rafa,” she said, quietly.
After a few seconds, he answered, “Goodnight, Liv.”
She rolled onto her side with her back to him, fluffing the pillow beneath her head. She stared at the wall, as her eyes adjusted to the dark. After a few more seconds, she felt him shifting, and she knew that he’d turned onto his side, facing her. They weren’t touching, but she felt his presence along the length of her body. She closed her eyes, relaxing into the sensation, and she heard him let out a quiet breath.
She slid quickly and easily into sleep.
* * *
When she woke, she was lying on her back. The room was dark, but she could see by the pale glow of the city beyond the curtain. She stared up at the ceiling, listening to Barba’s even breathing and the tick of the alarm clock. It was just before one a.m. and everything else seemed quiet.
He was still on his side, curled toward her, and their legs were touching beneath the blanket. She turned her head on the pillow, looking at him in the dimness, and suddenly—maybe it because she was half-asleep, and he looked both peaceful and vulnerable, or maybe it was just because her mind was tired of denying the truth—she knew that she had never loved anyone the way she loved him. It wasn’t bigger, or flashier; quite the opposite, her love for him was subtle. It colored everything, filled and affected everything, and it was as much a part of her as breathing. She couldn’t even say for sure when it had happened. The progression had been gradual, natural, borne of respect and friendship and trust.
His breathing changed and, after a moment, his eyes opened, meeting hers. She smiled in the dim light.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I could hear you thinking,” he murmured, and she saw his lips curve into a smile. He adjusted his head on his pillow, watching her.
She turned onto her side so that they were facing each other. Their legs were still touching, their feet together between the sheets. Their gazes, bright in the darkness, held. She was tempted to tell him that she loved him, but she knew that he knew. Just as she knew that he loved her; she could feel it in his breath, see it in his eyes. She could feel it surrounding her.
She slid her hand onto the mattress between them, and he covered it with his own. The warmth of his palm sent a little shiver through her, and she shifted closer. Something had changed, and they both knew it; even so, she knew he wouldn’t make the first move.
She lifted her other hand, pressing her palm against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart and the heat of his body. His lips were parted, and she leaned closer, searching his face. She kissed him, softly, her lips barely touching his. His hand tightened over hers on the bed, and his mouth opened to hers. Still, she kept the kiss light, relishing the softness of his lips and the way their breaths mingled together.
She could feel his heart, faster now, beneath her hand. Her belly was tight with desire, and she shifted closer, wanting—needing—to touch more of him. His hand left hers and settled lightly onto the curve of her hip, and when she deepened the kiss, his tongue met hers.
He shifted his legs and she pressed herself against his body. He slid his other hand between her neck and the pillow, curving his fingers into the tangles of her hair, pulling her mouth more firmly against his. Their movements were slow—not restrained, but gentle. Desire was burning within her, though, and she could feel his growing arousal. She wanted more of him.
He pulled his mouth from hers and leaned his head forward, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. She saw him smile at the shiver that passed through her. She took hold of his shirt and pulled herself closer, tucking her head under his chin, breathing in his scent. He kissed her head, wrapping his arms around her, hugging her against his body, and they stayed like that for a minute, their hearts beating together.
When she lifted her head to kiss him again, she slid her hand to his waist, loving the way his muscles tensed. She pushed his shirt up, letting her fingers play over his skin, and his breath caught. She wanted him, and she knew that he knew it. There was no need to say it aloud—and yet, she wanted to make sure he had no reason to doubt, either himself or her.
“Make love to me?” she murmured against his lips, and his hand was light against her cheek.
“I don’t have protection,” he said, his words a soft caress.
“It’s alright,” she answered.
He pulled back to look at her face. “Are you sure?” he asked, quietly.
She’d never been more sure. She also knew that, no matter what the sunrise might bring, she wouldn’t regret this. Not ever. “Yes,” she said.
He studied her for a few more seconds before leaning forward. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her jaw, he bent his head and nuzzled her throat, gently pushing her onto her back. He trailed kisses over her chest, sliding lower as he pulled her shirt up, his mouth hot and damp against her belly. She squirmed, shifting her legs, filled with an anticipation that was almost painful.
He nudged her thighs apart, hooking his fingers into the elastic waistband of her sweats to slip them down her hips. She felt the cool air against her skin and realized that he'd pushed the covers down to her ankles. He pressed his lips against her lower belly, and she tipped her head into the pillow. One of her hands was in his hair.
She felt his breath between her legs, and her own breath caught in her throat. He pulled her pants further down her thighs, the movement so slow and smooth that she barely noticed. He pushed her knees further apart, and then his fingers were slowly, carefully, sliding into her, and she gasped, her hand tightening in his hair. A moment later, she felt his hot breath, and then his mouth, and she arched against him, making a sound in her throat.
His tongue flicked across her clitoris, and she said his name, her hips lifting toward him. He slid his fingers further inside of her, curving them forward as he sucked gently, and she could already feel her orgasm building, gathering like storm clouds within her. She wanted to hold out, to wait—she wanted to feel him inside of her—but he had other plans.
He pressed his palm against her stomach, holding her against the mattress as she tried to arch her back, and with a few flicks of his fingers and tongue, the orgasm was crashing over her, and she called out his name as she writhed beneath his strong grip.
He withdrew his fingers and lifted his head as the shudders were still wracking her body, and he moved over her, finding her mouth with his. She could taste herself on his lips. She could feel his erection, straining against the layers of fabric. She reached between their bodies with shaky fingers and pushed his pants and boxers down his hips while he kissed her. Their legs were tangled together in a mess of blankets and pajamas, but it didn’t matter. His hand was between her thighs, and then he was positioning himself.
“Rafael,” she said against his mouth, because she could think of nothing else to say.
He moved his lips to her ear and whispered, “I love you, Liv.”
“I know,” she said, and then he was pushing into her, slowly. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, drawing him deeper, but she couldn’t; her legs were immobilized, spread just wide enough to give him access.
He covered her mouth with his, again, as he found a rhythm, sliding in and out, and then his thumb had found her most sensitive spot, and she cried out, the sound muffled by his kiss. She could feel herself hurtling toward a second climax, and she met him thrust for thrust, knowing that he wouldn’t be far behind her.
The second orgasm was stronger than the first, and after a few more flicks of his thumb, he withdrew his hand, plunging into her one last time. She felt him coming inside of her and she held onto his head, keeping his mouth on hers even though neither of them could breathe.
As their tremors lessened, he pulled himself from her and rolled onto his side, gathering her into his arms. They were still almost fully-clothed, their pajamas stuck to their sweaty skin. She tucked her head against his chest, her cheek resting on his arm, and he kissed her head again.
“I love you,” she murmured.
His arms tightened around her. She could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, softly, “I know.”