He wanted it to be glorious for her. For both of us.

Soon. He’d be inside her soon. Soon, soon, soon. He chanted the words in his mind to stave off his orgasm until she shoved at his shoulders.

“Now,” she demanded. She flung her arm to the side, fingers feeling for the condom he’d left on the nightstand. “Do it now. Please, Rafe. Please.”

Yes. Now. He reared to his knees, putting his weight on his good leg so that he could roll the condom on without falling over. Because wouldn’t that be sexy as hell.

He looked down to find her staring up at him, her green eyes dark with nothing but lust. No, not only lust. There was intense affection there too, and it gripped his heart a split second before she gripped his cock.

“Now,” she repeated.

“Now,” he echoed. And then, watching her every reaction, he slid into her, exhaling on a ragged groan. “God. Mercy.”

Her eyes fluttered closed and she hummed. “Move. Please.”

So he did, mentally recording every expression on her face, the pleasure he saw there. He noted what made her breath hitch and what made her moan. What made her dig her nails into his skin, what made her claw at his back. What made her wrap her legs around his hips and work herself on him.

He clenched his teeth harder, trying to hold off coming until he couldn’t anymore. Shifting to one arm, he slid his hand between their bodies, finding her clit and fingering her, fast and hard.

“Now,” he whispered. “Come for me, Mercy. Now.”

He pinched her clit and she cried out, body arching, face so goddamn beautiful that he forgot to breathe. And then he was coming too, pressing his face to her neck as his body convulsed and his vision went white.

His head stopped spinning eventually. She was petting him like he was one of her cats, long strokes up his spine and into his hair. He couldn’t think of a single coherent word to say. But she did.

“Glorious,” she whispered.

His lips curved against her skin, damp with perspiration. Pride filled him, but he didn’t think he could preen if his life depended on it. “Yes.”

And he’d do even better the next time.

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19, 3:40 A.M.

“You didn’t need to see us off,” Farrah said when Mercy met her and André coming down Rafe’s stairs. But she followed it up with a hug so hard that Mercy’s ribs protested. “You need to sleep.”

“I did. A little.” And then Rafe had woken her up and they’d made love all over again and it had been more glorious than the first time. When she’d heard footsteps on the landing, she’d left him in bed, him snoring quietly and her feeling ridiculously proud of herself for wearing him out.

Farrah coughed to cover a laugh. “Um, right.” She sniffed delicately at yesterday’s sweater that Mercy had thrown on when she’d heard voices in the hall. “I think I know what you were doing when you weren’t sleeping a little.”