“Holy crap, are you okay?” I asked, kneeling next to her and helping her sit up.

It was several long seconds before she could inhale and when she did, it was loud and desperate. I hated that sensation more than almost anything, getting all of the air knocked out of my lungs. She’d tripped on a large crack in the sidewalk and landed hard, her arms pressed to her ribs. Her pants were torn at one knee, and she was holding on to her ankle.

“Owwww,” she groaned, rocking.

“Shit,” I murmured, reaching behind her knees and around her waist, picking her up. “Let’s get you home and ice that.”

“I’m fine,” she managed, struggling to keep me from lifting her.

“Hanna.”

Swatting at my hands, she begged, “Don’t carry me, Will, you’ll break your arms.”

I laughed. “Hardly. You’re not heavy, and it’s three blocks.”

She gave in, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“What happened?”

Hanna was quiet, and when I ducked my head to catch her eye, she laughed. “You took off your shirt.”

Confused, I murmured, “I had another shirt on, you goof.”

“No, I mean, the tattoos.” She shrugged. “It’s been cold. I’ve only seen them a couple of other times, but I saw a lot of them on Saturday, and it made me think . . . I looked over just now . . .”

“And fell?” I asked, laughing despite my better judgment.

Groaning, she whispered, “Yes. Shut up.”

“Well, you can stare at them while I carry you,” I told her. “And feel free to nibble on my earlobes while we walk,” I whispered, smiling. “You know I like your teeth.”

She laughed, but not for long, and as soon as I’d caught up with her and realized what I’d said the tension grew into a heavy thing between us. I moved down the sidewalk to her building and with every step in silence, the monster tension only grew. It was the unspoken oh, right, the way I’d so casually referenced how she knew what I liked in bed, the reality of where we were heading—her apartment, where we’d had sex all night long Saturday.

I dug around inside my head for what to say, but the only words that bubbled right near the surface were words about us, or that night, or her, or my own f**ked-up brain. I put her down when we reached the elevator and I had to hit the up button. It arrived with a quiet ding, and I helped Hanna limp inside.

The doors closed, I hit the button for the twenty-third floor, and the lift jerked with the initial ascent. Hanna settled into the same corner she’d been in the last time we were in here together.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

She nodded, and everything we’d said right here two nights ago filled the elevator car like smoke rising from the floor. You go down on me. You do it until I come.

“Can you move your ankle?” I asked in a rush, my chest tightening with how much I wanted to step closer, kiss her.

She nodded again, eyes locked to mine. “It’s sore, but I think it’s okay.”

“Still,” I whispered. “We should ice it.”

“Okay.”

The gears of the elevator creaked; something just above us in the elevator shaft slid into place with a loud thunk.

You lean over me on the couch, jerking off, and come on my chest.

I licked my lips, finally letting my eyes move to her mouth, my mind wander to the memory of how it felt to kiss her. The echo of her words was loud enough in my head that it was as good as if she’d said them aloud: Sex in all kind of places on my body. How you like me to bite you, and how good it feels to do it.

I stepped closer, wondering if she remembered saying, We’re having sex and I’m doing everything you want and it isn’t just good for me, it’s good for you, too. And, if she did, I wondered if she could see in my eyes that it had been good, so good for me; it was making me want to kneel at her feet right now.

We arrived at her floor and I relented as she insisted on limping down the hall, needing to break the tension somehow. Inside her apartment, I grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and guided her to the bathroom, making her sit down on the toilet seat while I dug around under her sink for Bactine or some type of antiseptic. I settled for water and hydrogen peroxide.

Her pants were only ripped on one knee, but the other was scuffed enough to tell me that both knees were probably pretty scraped. I rolled up each pant leg, ignoring the way she swatted my hands away at the sight of the mild stubble on her legs.

“I didn’t know you would be touching my legs today,” she said, laughing a little.