If Loxley meant to say more, he's not permitted. Derrica lifts her head from where she'd dipped to the bend of his neck and shoulder to kiss him. There's an element of urgency in it, her hand leaving his hair to cup his neck, thumb at his jawline.

Everything is almost overwhelming. And then I would like you is overwhelming too. Or it's overwhelming because of what it pulls from her almost immediately, something she stifles against his mouth as she takes her hand from him.

There's no ceremony, no teasing. Just a slow, sinuous roll of her hips as she takes him into her. And then settles, little hitching movements and shift of her weight ending with her fully in his lap, thighs tight around his hips, breath gone shallow. Her expression is so tender, watching him.

"Here," she whispers. "Good?"