Page 14

Her jeans are undone, and I press a kiss just below her navel before she slips off the counter and lets me ease down her shorts.

I do so slowly, watching her eyes the whole time.

She leans back, breath hitching, one hand in my hair, the other gripping the edge of the sink like she’s trying to keep herself grounded.

I want her unraveled.

My hands are steady, my mouth patient. I take my time, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her whisper my name like it’s a secret. When she finally comes apart, it’s with a muffled cry, head tipped back and lips parted.

She’s stunning like this—wild and wrecked, still trying to pretend she’s not affected.

I stand slowly, press a kiss to her temple, and wait for her to meet my gaze again.

She does.

She’s smirking…still catching her breath.

“Well. That’s one way to win an argument.”

I grin and brush my thumb along her jaw. “Who said we were fighting?”

She pulls me down for another kiss. This one’s softer but still hungry as she tastes herself on my tongue.

And then she straightens, adjusts her clothes, and glances in the mirror like nothing just happened.

Except I know better.

So does she.

“Come on, let’s get out of here so we can finish what you just started.

” Her sexy-as-fuck smile shoots a throbbing pulse to my already hard dick.

I adjust myself as she grabs my hand without another word and leads us back into the night like she hasn’t just made me entirely hers in a ten-by-ten bar bathroom.

We don’t talk on the ride. She sits in my passenger seat, watching the streetlights blur, legs crossed, hair mussed, lips still pink from kissing. I don’t say a word. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll ruin whatever spell this night has cast upon us.

When we get inside, things shifts again.

Softer now. Slower. There’s no more rush.

Her hand slips into mine as we step through the doorway, heat humming low between us, quiet and steady.

She lets me lead her to the bedroom. But once we’re there, she pauses.

Not uncertain. But she shifts the control.

Her fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, and then she pushes it up and off without saying a word. Her hands trail over my chest like she’s memorizing the shape of me, mapping out where to start.

Then she takes a step forward, crowding me until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I sit. She stands between my legs, lips curved, hands skimming my jaw.

“Figured I owed you one.”

I don’t argue.

She kisses me, slow and deep, before sliding down to her knees. My breath catches, but I don’t stop her. I wouldn’t dream of it.

Her touch is confident, and her eyes stay on mine the whole time. Her mouth is hot as she watches me unravel.

When it’s over, I’m breathless and wrecked, my hands still tangled in her hair as she presses a kiss to my stomach and climbs back up into my lap like nothing happened.

Except everything did.

I cradle her face in my hands and kiss her—this time with care. She melts into it, fingers resting on my chest like they’ve always belonged there.

“Trouble,” I whisper against her mouth.

She smiles, a little breathless now. “Don’t start with the names.”

“Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”

Our clothes come off one piece at a time. Her laughter softens into sighs. Her mouth finds my shoulder and mine finds the curve of her spine. There’s nothing frantic this time, no need to get lost.

Just the need to stay here.

When all our clothes are gone, she lets me look at her.

Really look at her.

She doesn’t cover herself. Doesn’t crack a joke or retreat. She allows the quiet to linger between us.

She’s beautiful in the way people only are when they stop pretending they’re not scared. Even if just for a second.

I run my fingers down her back, slow and steady, and she closes her eyes like the world stops when I touch her.

She shifts—easing me back onto the bed, knees bracketing my hips as her hair falls around us like a curtain. Her mouth finds mine again, and it’s all heat anchored by something quieter underneath. Something neither of us dares to name.

I reach for the drawer beside the bed and fumble for a second before my hand closes around what I’m looking for.

A condom.

She pulls back just enough to watch me open it, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Prepared, huh?” she asks.

“Always.”

She leans in, brushing her mouth over mine. “Good.”

The teasing doesn’t last. It dissolves the moment our skin meets again.

We move together, like we’ve already done this a dozen times. Like our bodies remember what our heads keep trying to deny. Every shift, every gasp, every lingering touch is familiar in a way that shouldn’t make sense—but does.

Her name slips from my mouth more than once, softly, like a prayer.

And when she says mine, it’s not sharp or sarcastic.

It’s real.

It’s deeper this time.

Less urgent.

More honest.

We move together like we already know how this ends—even if we don’t. Even if we’re still pretending, it doesn’t matter.

After, she rests her head against my chest, her fingertips dragging lightly across my skin like she’s writing something she won’t say out loud.

I want to ask if she’s staying this time.

But I don’t.

I let her breathe. Let her choose.

Because something tells me if she’s still here by morning… it’s because she wants to be.