Unwrapping Her Perfect Match

Chapter Twelve

"John? John!"

Gwen lurched up as John collapsed onto his back next to her. Pulling one of his eyelids up, she quickly examined his pupils. Dilated.

Before she could roll him into the recovery position, he jerked his head away from her and blinked. "I think you killed me."

"I think you gave me a heart attack." She pressed her palm against her chest, rubbing where it hurt. Regret and relief hunched her shoulders. "We shouldn't have done that. You need to be really careful about physical activity for the next few weeks, and that includes sex. I should've stopped us. I'm sorry."

His brows shot up. "You're not seriously apologizing for having sex with me, are you? Because I promise I don't blame you for doing it." He cringed. "Fuck, that sounded like I think I'm irresistible. I didn't mean it like that. Blame it on the brain damage."

"You might not think you're irresistible, but I'm starting to."

"Really?" His hands stroked up and down her arms before he tugged her across his chest. "Tell me more about that."

She rolled her eyes. "I've never met a man before whose ego was proportionate to the size of his penis. In my experience, the bigger the swagger the more disappointing the member."

He snorted. "All I heard you say just now was that I've got a big cock."

"John, we have to be more careful. I don't want to hurt you."

"I play rugby, love. I like a bit of pain."

She dragged her fingernails lightly down his sternum to his abs and circled his belly button as he shuddered. "I don't want to do any long-term damage, then."

He pulled her down for a long kiss. When he pulled away, he said, "Any idea what time it is?"

Time to change the subject, apparently. She glanced at the clock behind him. "Three."

He grunted. "Let me go to the loo and tidy myself up, then I want to hold you while we sleep."

The words wrapped Gwen in lighthearted giddiness. As he took care of the condom, rolled out of bed and tugged on his boxer briefs, she ran the words back in her head over and over. He wanted to hold her while they slept. That meant this was more than sex. The simple, nonchalant way he'd said it made it clear he hadn't expected that they would do anything but cuddle for the rest of the night.

She leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the T-shirt she'd stripped off earlier. She shoved her arms through the sleeves and had just pulled it over her head when big hands yanked it off her.

"This is a clothing-free zone," John said. "Now scoot over so we can naked-cuddle."

She moved to the middle of the bed, rolled to her side and settled into his warm embrace. When he pulled her even closer, she hid her grin in her pillow.

She woke up several hours later to the rumble of John's deep breathing and the rhythmic expansion and contraction of his chest against her back. Gently lifting his arm from its protective perch across her chest, she slipped away, got out of bed and pulled on her clothes from yesterday as quietly as she could. Today she would have to go home and pick up some more. At least she'd only worn these for about four hours yesterday, between getting off work and going to bed. Wearing them over the course of three days would stretch the boundaries of hygiene, though.

When Gwen got to the living room, Agnes was sitting on the couch reading a fat tome.

"Salut, Agnes. Tu as bien dormi?"