Page 55 of Sleeping with the Enemy

“You okay?” Astoria asked.

“Mmm.” Miller's voice was drowsy and satisfied. “More than okay.”

“Yeah?”

Miller lifted her head, propping her chin on Astoria's shoulder to look at her. Her hair was a mess, her lips slightly swollen, and she was smiling in a way that made something turn over in Astoria's chest.

“Yeah,” Miller said. “That was… I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Astoria tucked a strand of hair behind Miller's ear, letting her fingers linger. “Like what?”

“Like everything made sense.” Miller's smile turned a little shy. “I spent so many years thinking something was wrong with me. That I just wasn't built for passion, or that I was too in my head, or…” She shook her head. “Turns out I was just looking in the wrong direction.”

Astoria understood that more than Miller knew. She pressed a kiss to Miller’s forehead, then another on her temple. Miller’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Stay there,” Astoria murmured, and she wasn’t sure if she meant physically or just…stay in this moment. Stay soft and open and looking at her like that.

They settled back into silence. Astoria’s fingers found their way to Miller’s hair, combing through it gently and working out the tangles they’d created earlier. Miller practically melted into her.

“That feels nice,” Miller whispered.

“Good.”

More silence with soft touches—Astoria’s hand in her hair, Miller's fingers tracing her collarbone. Astoria pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another, a trail of them along the curve of muscle. She could feel Miller's smile against her skin.

This was new for her. She’d had sex before, plenty of it, though never like this, the after. The wanting to stay, to touch, to exist in the same space without needing to fill it with words or performance. With Valerie, the after had always felt like coming down from something, a return to the usual distance they maintained. Astoria had assumed that was just how it worked.

It wasn’t, though. She knew that now.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was past eleven. She should go.

“What are you thinking?” Miller asked.

“That I should leave.” Astoria’s hand stilled in her hair. “And that I really don’t want to.”

Miller was quiet for a moment. “Then don’t.”

“I can’t stay the night. If someone saw us leaving together in the morning…”

“I know.” Miller propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at Astoria. “I know the risks. I’m not asking you to be reckless.”

“I want to be reckless.” The admission slipped out before Astoria could stop it. “That’s the problem. I want to stay herewith you and order room service and fall asleep and not think about what happens tomorrow. I want to be the kind of person who can do that.”

Miller’s expression softened. She leaned down and kissed her, slow and sweet and unhurried. “You’re already that person. You’re just also the person who’s careful. Both things can be true.”

Astoria laughed quietly. “When did you get so wise?”

“Somewhere between the elevator and the bed, apparently.”

They kissed again, longer this time, and Astoria let herself sink into it, let herself have this one last moment before reality reasserted itself.

When they finally broke apart, she made herself sit up. The sheets pooled at her waist, and she felt Miller’s eyes on her, warm and appreciative. She didn’t reach for her clothes.

“The room is paid through tomorrow,” Astoria said. “You should stay. Get some sleep, order room service in the morning—they do an excellent breakfast. Put whatever you want on the room. I left my card at the desk.”

Miller raised an eyebrow. “You’re putting me up in a hotel?”

“I’m making sure you don’t have to drive home tonight if you don’t want to.” Astoria found Miller’s hand and laced their fingers together. “And maybe I like the idea of you being comfortable in a bed I was just in with you.”