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I lean forward, running my tongue along her bottom lip, letting her taste herself before I drop my forehead to hers. An hour from now I’ll dwell on the fact that I lost control and see this for the major fuck up it is. But right now, I’m going to ignore it and embrace this.

Camila

A warm late-morningbreeze flows through the open bedroom window. When I open my eyes the sheer white curtains are blowing across the peaceful room. I focus on nothing outside, taking note of how relaxed my body is. As if I’m floating on a cloud in a dream-like state.

For approximately forty-five seconds.

My breath catches and my stomach flips at the memory of last night. I can still feel the rough heat from Miles’s palm as he dragged me out of the party and into the bathroom. Every nerve in my body sparked in response to his touch. From the slow caress of his mouth on my neck to the way his fingers tugged my hair at the root. My eyes squeeze shut and I can see his black-as-night eyes as clearly as if he were in front of me right now. The hairs on my arms are alert at the memory of the way his eyes burned into mine when he got down on his knees.

I’ve never had a sexual experience like that before. I might not be a virgin but I’m definitely not the most experienced either. I’ve only been intimate with men I was in a relationship with so it’s definitely been a while. I never thought sex was something that I missed but now I’m startingto think it’s because I’ve never given a lot of thought to what I might enjoy. Likely because I know I would never be brave enough to ask for it.

I’m a people pleaser to my core, something I’ve known about myself for a long time. But now I’m wondering if that’s something that’s stopped me in more areas of my life than I realized.

Rolling over onto my back, I stroke the linen duvet cover beneath my fingers. My legs become restless and the familiar feeling of anxiety begins to work its way through my body. I’m worried about what last night meant, or worse, what it didn’t mean. I’ve felt the tension building between us for weeks, it’s almost palpable. I would be able to handle it if last night was just the cap blowing off, releasing some of that pressure. But the truth is, for whatever reason I can’t explain, I like Miles. I’ve thought about him as more than the guy that I made some strange arrangement with. Luckily every time I’ve caught myself having thoughts of him, I’ve always been able to remind myself that he made it very clear he would never want anything more. But his actions contradict his words. And if he did want something more than our agreement, would I be able to offer him enough?

My stomach begins to turn and I’m plagued with worry around all the unanswered questions. Will this change our relationship? Will he think it was a mistake? Do I think it was a mistake? Was it a one-time thing or do I wish it were more? Will I be okay if he doesthink it was a mistake?

Anxiety is a weird thing because the last thing I want to do is leave this bed right now. However, staying in bed and letting the thoughts fester is just as bad, but I can’t stop myself. It’s a feeling I’ve never been able to properly voice, like dread, but heavier.

I focus on the palm frond painting above my dresser—the intricate veins of the leaves and the way the gold foil paint helps pull the eyes to the deep green colors. I trace the lines with my eyes over and over again until my tired mind finally pulls me back to sleep.

When I wake again,it's dark. The breeze blowing through my cracked window now has a deep chill. My eyes adjust to shadows in the dark room only being lit by the full moon outside. Slowly, I peel myself off the mattress and slide to the edge of the bed. I can’t tell if I’m actually feeling better or if I’m just so out of it from a full night of sleep and then sleeping the day away.

My phone lights up on the dresser and I grab it on my way to the bathroom. 8:30 p.m.Holy shit.I have one missed call from Taylor and one from my mom. I definitely don't have the energy for any of that right now so I set my phone down on the counter and leave it there.

The warm water plops down on my skin and then washes over me. The shampoo begins to sud in my hair and I can feel the phantom touch of Miles’s fingers gripping me. My stomach flips twice before I’m able to steady myself enough to rinse off. When I get out, the rumbling of my stomach echoes off the bathroom walls. It’s an effort to get dressed, but I slide into a new pair of silk pajama shorts and another oversized crewneck. Water continues to drip down from my hair onto my chest, I give it one more squeeze with the towel before I make my way downstairs.

I pause halfway down the stairs, listening for any signs that Miles is home. The hum of the refrigerator and my heartbeat are the only sounds filling the air. The recessive lighting under the cabinets in the kitchen is soft but in the dark space they light up the room enough, so I pad barefoot into the kitchen.

I search the pantry for any kind of food that would be considered ‘storm shelter food’. All it takes is seeing rows of glass containers of oats, flour, and pasta to remember I’m living with a billionaire whose private chef prepares him things that, although delicious, just aren’t what I’m craving now. I audibly huff my annoyance when I realize I’m not going to find a cup of noodles in here and I move on to the refrigerator.

It takes a lot of digging, but I finally find some string cheese. That and a piece of toast will have to do. I move to the island where the bread box is and drop my string cheese when I notice Miles sitting in the dark living room across from me.

“Jesus. You scared the shit out of me.” My hand instinctively clutches at my chest. “What are you doing there?”

“I was going to give you another thirty minutes before I sent someone into your room to check on you.”

“Someone like who?” My voice comes out louder than I intended in the otherwise silent room.

“I don't know. Animal control maybe? Let them know I have a bear hibernating in my guest room.”

I cock my head at him but otherwise ignore him and go back to making my toast.

“Camila.”

My tense shoulders soften with his tone. It’s as if I let go of a breath that has been stuck in my chest for twenty-four hours. His hand swirls the dark amber liquid in his crystal glass and I watch the column of his neck work when he throws all the contents back in one large swallow. My chest does a somersault when I think of what else his mouth can do and I quickly try to force down the dry lump in my own throat.

I’m desperate to end the tension between us but I don’t feel brave enough to ask my burning questions so I play it safe. “So who's Nina?” His full eyebrows bunch together as he tilts his head. “Nina. I ran into her in the bathroom last night,” I clarify before pausing at the memory of what happened later. “She definitely knew you and her friends seemed, I don't know? Strange? I could be in my head, but I felt like they were giving me weird looks.”

“They shouldn't have.” He runs an aggravated hand over his jaw. “Nina used to be a paralegal at the firm, she wasn't subtle about wanting to go out or anythingelseshe wanted to do with me. She used to show up at restaurants and bars that Jonas and I would frequent after work.”

The idea of him with another woman shouldn't hurt me but…I shake the thoughts and quickly place my bread in the toaster. I’m counting on the fact that if I fill my stomach with food, the sad, empty feeling in it will go away. “Is she a scorned lover?” I swallow down the discomfort in my chest and force my tone to remain casual.

“Absolutely not. I don't hook up with anyone more than once, let alone people I know I’ll see again. She had a going away party at a restaurant a few months back, I think she was offended that I wouldn't bring her home that night either.” He shrugs. “She scored with Jonas though.”

My stomach drops and I want to hide. I know he isn’t looking for a relationship. I didn’t expect what happened last night to lead to one, but hearing him say this practically confirmsit was nothing more than a one-time thing for him.

“Come here.” His head tilts, motioning for me to come sit next to him. The dread is heavy in my legs as I walk over to the chair across from him. His hand snakes around my wrist in a silent ask to sit next to him. A metallic taste fills my mouth and only then do I realize the small hole I’ve chewed off from the inside of my cheek. Curling my legs up under me I take a seat beside him on the couch.