“Fuck,” she whispered, shaking.

Relief washed through me, opening the floodgates and permitting my own body to tumble forward, blind to everything but the sensation of her around me. The sweetness of her, the wetness of her . . . My back bowed back as I came, shouting out into the quiet, sterile room.

The sound of my yell echoed from the ceiling when I collapsed onto her, sweaty and heavy. I wanted to nestle my face into the smooth curve of her neck and sleep for at least three days.

She laughed, groaning under my weight. “Get off me, Hulk.”

I rolled away, practically crashing into the mattress beside her. “Damn, Chlo. That was . . .”

She curled into me, purring, “Very, very good.” Stretching to nibble at my jaw, she whispered, “I’m going to need at least ten minutes before we do that again.”

I laughed, and then it turned into a hoarse cough as the idea hit me fully. “Jesus, woman. I may need a bit longer than that. Just f**king cuddle me for a few.”

With a small kiss to my neck, she whispered, “I can’t wait for you to become Mr. Bennett Mills.”

My eyes flew open. “What?”

Her laugh was low and husky against my skin. “You heard me.”