The thought of her running off to another dangerous place put a hard knot right in the center of his chest. She’d been staying with him since they landed in New York, and he liked having her there.
Too much, if he was honest with himself. Having her there, in his space, sleeping in his room, drinking coffee on his balcony each morning—it filled an emptiness he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.
He glanced at his watch. He had to go to headquarters soon for a meeting about Cade that he was dreading, but he didn’t want to leave until Rue was back from physical therapy.
Right on cue, his front door opened. He looked up from his laptop, where he’d been staring at the same report since she left without absorbing a single word.
“Hey,” she called, dropping her gym bag by the door. Her movements were still careful, favoring her left side where the bullet had torn through her, but there was a spring in her step that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“How was therapy?” he asked, shutting his laptop.
“Great!” She grinned that wild, fearless smile that made his heart stutter. “I lifted eight-pound weights without feeling like my chest was going to split open like in The Thing.”
He winced. Her version of therapy was apparently watching every survival horror movie ever made, but that one was her favorite. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious.” Her eyes twinkled as she prowled closer. “And… Dr. Martinez gave me the okay.”
“For…?” The knot in his chest tightened. Jesus, the doctor couldn’t have already given his okay for her next expedition. It was too soon.
“For sex,” she said, golden eyes flashing with mischief.
Elliot’s brain short-circuited. The knot in his chest loosened, replaced by a different kind of tension entirely. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” She moved toward him with deliberate slowness, the slight hitch in her step doing nothing to diminish the predatory grace of her approach. “So I was thinking maybe we could celebrate.”
His mouth went dry as she reached him, one hand trailing along the back of the couch. “Celebrate,” he repeated, the word coming out embarrassingly hoarse.
“Mmm-hmm.” She circled around until she stood directly in front of him, then placed her hands on his shoulders and straddled his lap in one fluid motion.
Elliot’s hands automatically went to her hips to steady her, acutely aware of her warmth through the thin material of her leggings. “Rue, your injury?—”
“Is fine,” she said, leaning in close enough that he could smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Dr. Martinez was very specific about what I can and can’t do.” Her lips quirked. “Want to hear the list?”
“Please tell me you didn’t actually get a list from him.”
She shifted on his lap, a deliberate roll of her hips that made his breath catch. “Because I’ve been thinking about this since Takahe Station.” Her fingers slid into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine. “Haven’t you?”
God, yes. He’d thought of little else, especially at night when she was curled against him, warm and soft and frustratingly off-limits according to her discharge instructions.
“I didn’t want to rush you,” he managed, his hands tightening on her hips as she pressed closer.
“Always so careful.” She brushed her lips against his jaw, the touch feather-light but scorching. “Always so controlled.”
His control was rapidly fraying as she continued her slow, torturous exploration of his neck, each press of her lips sending heat spiraling through his body. When she nipped at his earlobe, he couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped him.
“I like that sound,” she murmured against his skin. “I want to hear more of it.”
She rocked against him again, more deliberately this time, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of how thin the barrier of clothing between them was—she in skin-tight workout leggings and he in nothing but sweatpants. His hands slid from her hips to her thighs, fingers digging into the firm muscle there.
“Rue,” he warned. “If you keep that up?—”
“You’ll what?” She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her own dark with desire. “Lose control? God, I hope so.”
thirty-seven
Rue’s stomachfluttered as his hands threaded into her hair, his grip tightening just enough to send a delicious shiver down her spine. The heat in his eyes made her core clench with anticipation.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted this,” she whispered against his mouth before claiming his lips in a hungry kiss.
