Though hazy and wrung out, I still memorized what he looked like as he finally unraveled beneath me—his flexing abs and shoulders, the fire in his gaze, the way he grunted my name—“Tabitha”—as he came. Of everything we’d done tonight, this eye contact was an intimacy that burrowed under my skin and warmed me from the inside, out.

The sound of falling rain crowded into this tight, dark space. I very gently pushed myself up and disengaged, tugging off the condom and disposing of it. When I crawled back to the seat, I didn’t even hesitate to climb onto his lap again.

Dean pushed himself up and forward. Wrapped his arms around my back and pressed his face to my chest. I looped my arms around his neck and held him there. Kissed the top of his head, ran my fingers through his curls. Eventually his breathing slowed and he tipped his head up and kissed me. It was unhurried and delicious in a different way—a kiss not as a prelude to sex but a deeper connection.

Buried beneath my perpetual quest for fleeting pleasure was the routine that came after, all the tiny steps that ensured the fleeting part of the pleasure. I was a storyteller. I knew how this one ended. It was well past time to enact that routine if I wanted this soft heart of mine to stay protected.

But I didn’t move.

His eyes opened and locked on mine. Dean shifted me until I was astride him, curled against his chest.

“Well, now you know what it’s like to make out with someone in the back seat of your car,” I said, voice husky from my triple orgasms. “Steamed-up windows and everything.”

He brushed his lips across my cheek. “Was it mediocre?”

The idea was so preposterous that I laughed. “As I’ve said before, your physical prowess is well-documented. And I have been…well-documented as they say.”

“Is that so?” He needed to stop nuzzling the shell of my ear or we were going to steam these windows back up.

I indicated our situation—clothing everywhere, snarled hair and bee-stung lips, bodies half-naked and covered in sweat and drying rain. “Talk about scandalous.”

He hummed under his breath. “Speaking of. Do I need to get you back, or have you already broken curfew?”

I flashed him a devilish grin. “You better believe I’ll be sneaking in. What about you?”

“Sounds about right,” he said. “I’ll need to get my very beautiful and troublemaking neighbor home first. Have to keep that innocent reputation intact.”

I snuggled against his warm chest. “I hate to break it to you, but we just fucked in a car in front of a famous museum during a thunderstorm. I think your innocence is destroyed now.”

His smile was just as devilish. “Good.”

23. Dean

Twenty-Three

Dean