You’d never call yourself needy, but there was no denying it — after sex, you clung to Joey like your life depended on it. Maybe it was the way the adrenaline faded into that warm, lazy haze, or maybe it was because his arms felt like the safest place on earth. Either way, once it was over, you didn’t want space. You wanted him. And Joey, for all his sharp edges and filthy mouth, never minded. If anything, he encouraged it, pulling you closer, fussing over you in that quiet way that made your heart squeeze.

Tonight was no different.

You were sprawled across his bare chest, your leg slung over his hips, cheek pressed to his warm skin. Joey’s arm was locked around your waist, his other hand lazily tracing circles up and down your spine. His hair was a mess, his breathing steady, but his voice was rough when he spoke.

“You’re like a bloody koala,” he muttered, though there was no bite to it. “Cling on any harder and I’ll need surgery to get you off.”

You smiled against him, refusing to move. “Don’t care.”

He huffed out a laugh and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Didn’t say I wanted you to move, did I? Just stating facts.” His fingers slipped into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. “You good? Not sore or anything?”