Chapter 27 It’s Worth It
Andrew’s eyes slid shut for a second. When they opened again they were darker, pupils blown wide in the dim light. “Okay,” he whispered. “I forgive you.”
Amelia’s whole face softened into something bright and triumphant. “Yeeee,” she breathed, the sound almost a giggle, but hushed, secret.
She lifted her chin, lips parted slightly, expectant. “Kiss me.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Andrew closed the small distance between them in one smooth motion, mouth finding hers. The first touch was gentle— lips brushing, testing— then deeper. Her mouth opened under his immediately and their tongues met, slow at first, exploratory, then hungry. A soft, wet sound filled the quiet room.
His left hand slid up her ribs, under the thin silk of her camisole, fingers splaying wide across the warm skin of her back. Then higher. He cupped the back of her neck, tilting her head so he could kiss her harder, deeper.
Amelia made a small, needy noise against his mouth.
His right hand moved lower, slipping beneath the hem of her matching shorts. He found soft skin, the swell of her breast, and closed his fingers around it— gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over the already-tight peak. She arched into his palm with a sharp inhale.
Meanwhile her own hands were busy. She tugged at the drawstring of his sleep pants, impatient, then pushed the waistband down just enough. Her fingers wrapped around him— warm, sure— and stroked once, twice, slow and deliberate.
Andrew broke the kiss on a rough exhale, forehead pressed to hers. “Fuck, baby…”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, lips grazing his as she spoke.
He didn’t.
He shifted, rolling half over her, knee nudging her thighs apart. She helped him, legs parting willingly, hips lifting. He hooked the crotch of her shorts aside with two fingers. The first slow press of him against her entrance made them both freeze for a heartbeat— eyes locked, breathing ragged.
Then he pushed forward.
Amelia’s mouth fell open on a silent gasp. Her nails dug into the backs of his shoulders. He sank in inch by careful inch, watching every flicker of expression cross her face—brows knitting, lips parting wider, eyes fluttering shut when he finally seated himself fully.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then she rolled her hips, tiny, needy circle.
That was all it took.
Andrew pulled back almost all the way, then drove forward again— slow, deep, deliberate. Again. Again. Each thrust dragged a soft, broken sound from her throat. Her legs hooked around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, urging him faster.
He obliged.
The rhythm changed— long, rolling strokes turning sharper, harder. The headboard tapped once against the wall, then again, steady now. Neither of them cared. The city outside was asleep; the room belonged only to the wet slide of skin, the harsh rasp of breath, the low, desperate noises she couldn’t hold back anymore.
Amelia’s hands roamed— fingernails raking down his back, then up into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against her throat.
“Harder,” she gasped, voice wrecked. “Please— Andrew—”
He gave it to her.
One arm hooked under her knee, hitching her leg higher. The new angle made her cry out— sharp, surprised, then pleading. Her head fell back against the pillow, throat exposed, pulse hammering. He kissed it, open-mouthed, teeth grazing.
She was trembling now— everywhere— inner thighs shaking against his hips.
“I’m—” she started, then couldn’t finish. Her words dissolved into a long, keening moan.
Andrew felt it— the sudden tight, fluttering grip around him— and swore under his breath. “Yeah, baby, that’s it— let go—”
Her back bowed off the mattress. Fingers twisted in the sheets, then in his hair again, pulling hard as the wave broke over her. She came with his name on her lips— half sob, half prayer— body clenching rhythmically around him.
He tried to hold on.
Couldn’t.
Three more rough, uneven thrusts and he followed her over the edge— forehead pressed to her shoulder, low groan muffled against her skin, hips jerking as he spilled inside her.
They stayed like that for long seconds— sweaty, trembling, breathing like they’d run miles.
Eventually he lifted his head.
Her eyes were glassy, lips swollen and dark. She looked at him like he was the only real thing in the world.
He brushed damp hair off her forehead with his thumb. “Still think I’m mad at you?”
Amelia’s laugh was soft, breathless, a little shaky. “No.”
“Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Because I’m really fucking tired now.”
She smiled— slow, sated, mischievous. “You can sleep.”
He raised a skeptical brow.
“After one more,” she whispered, already rolling her hips again, lazy little circle.
Andrew groaned, half-laughing, already hardening inside her. “You’re going to kill me, woman.”
“It's worth it,” she murmured, and pulled him down for another kiss.
Outside, Paris kept its quiet violet watch over them, indifferent to the hours they were about to steal from sleep.