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“Nice thighs,” she whispered, running her hands over his legs to his dark-green boxer briefs. “Thanks. I work out,” he said humbly.
“God, I love your stupid dimples,”
“Anything else about me that you love?”
“I’d really like to find out ...
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This was what he didn’t know he wanted.
This was what he was never letting go of. Rolling, he landed on his back and anchored her above him. “Ride, Thorn.”
If sex with Nick was listed on Yelp, her review would include glowing words like orgasmic, expert level, very large penis, and totally satisfied. No matter what happened in the morning, this had been the best bad decision she’d ever made.
Maybe she really could do this. Save the day. Get the guy. Live to have more sex with Nick. “You’re dead, Thorn,” Flemming snarled
“Damn, girl. You got shot right through the muffin top.”
“Nobody fucking drowns my girlfriend,” he snarled.
“I got shot in the ass? That’s not sexy,” he complained.
“Which one of us is holding the other up?” she asked as they limped toward the paramedics. “We’re holding each other up. That’s what partners do,”
“Whose lion is this?” bellowed a capitol cop with pants wet to the knees and gun drawn. “Mine,” Riley said, sliding off Nick’s back. “Ours,” Nick corrected her. “Aww.” She grinned at him. Nick whistled Burt off the blubbering bad guy. The dog bounded over, tail wagging.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have knocked on my door,” Riley said to Nick. She was wearing his T-shirt, and he thought that was fucking adorable. “Are you kidding, Thorn? This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he said, reaching down to help her up.
“I’m saying I don’t know how this woo-woo stuff works. But maybe you saw those things happening because they were gonna happen no matter what.”
But they were in it together. He pitched them forward, and together they fell onto her bed. “Ouch,” they muttered between kisses.
