I was singing in the damn shower. Actually singing. Out loud. Not just humming under my breath like I usually did when I was relaxed or plotting something. No—this morning, I was belting out lyrics like some hopeless fool in a musical. My voice bounced off the marble walls, my hand slick with shampoo as I scrubbed it through my hair and tried not to grin like a madman. Emily. God help me, I was thinking about her again. Her lips. The way they had moved against mine last night—soft, hesitant, then hungry, like she’d been holding back for far too long. It was still burned into my mind, and no amount of cold water could wash it away. I’d kissed her. She’d kissed me back. And then she asked me for time. Time. That word was both a lifeline and a noose. But I’d take it. Gladly. Because the way she’d looked at me… she hadn’t run. She hadn’t pushed me away. That was more than I expected, and more than I probably deserved. "Give me time," she’d whispered. And I had nodded, promising
The car purred beneath us, the quiet hum of the engine doing little to drown out the storm in my head. Morning sunlight filtered through the windshield, casting golden stripes across Emily's thighs where her skirt had ridden up just a little. She sat beside me, silent, looking out the window like she wasn’t really seeing anything. I couldn’t stop glancing at her. She looked ethereal. Soft blouse tucked into that navy skirt, her hair tied neatly in a ponytail, her lips pink and swollen from my kisses. And yet, she was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that said something was wrong. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched. Fuck. I was happy. Or I should be. We’d made love, laughed, kissed like we had all the time in the world. We’d crossed a line, burned the bridge behind us, and I didn’t regret a single second of it. So why did it feel like she was already slipping through my fingers again? I glanced at her. "You okay?" She didn’t look at me. Just nodded, distrac
We stayed tangled beneath the sheets, our bodies still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, hearts beating in a rhythm only we could hear. My limbs were limp, my skin slick with sweat, but I’d never felt more alive. More wanted. More his. Finally, I let out a small laugh, breathless and dazed. “If we don’t eat something soon, I might pass out.” He smirked, brushing his fingers gently across my cheek. “You didn’t seem to be complaining a minute ago.” “I wasn’t,” I grinned, stretching lazily. “But I do need to refuel.” He chuckled and pulled away from me—reluctantly—and reached for the tray. “Then let’s get some food in you. Can’t have my girl fainting on me.” My girl. Why did those two simple words make my chest ache in the best way? We sat up in bed, the sheets still wrapped loosely around my waist as he fed me a piece of buttery croissant, his thumb brushing the corner of my lips to wipe away a crumb. “You’re staring again,” I teased, popping a strawberry into his mouth
Sunlight was barely peeking through the curtains when I felt the warm weight of his arm draped across my waist. My body ached in the most delicious ways—sore, satisfied, completely used. Every inch of me still tingled with the memory of his mouth, his fingers, his cock. I stretched, wincing slightly, and turned my head. He was already awake. Lying beside me with one arm propping up his head, the other still possessively wrapped around my waist, his eyes devoured me. Slow. Intent. A dark, lazy hunger gleaming in their depths. “Why are you staring at me like that?” I asked, voice scratchy from all the moaning and screaming I'd done. His lips curved into a smirk. “Because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” I rolled my eyes, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You’re full of it.” “I’m full of you,” he said, dead serious. “And I plan to stay that way.” I laughed softly, cheeks still flushed, and turned my face into the pillow. “You’re insane.” He leaned down and kis
Before I could say a word, his fingers slipped between my thighs again—two of them sliding in easily, slick from everything we’d just shared. I gasped, arching up, my hips chasing the rhythm he hadn’t even set yet. He moved them slowly, curling just right, thumb brushing over my clit in soft, maddening circles. “Now,” he whispered, tongue flicking the shell of my ear, “I want to hear something from you.” His fingers worked deeper, faster, each stroke making my thighs shake. “What…” I breathed, barely able to think. “What do you want to hear?” He bit my earlobe gently, fingers thrusting harder, slick sounds filling the room like music only we could hear. “What do you call me,” he growled, “when I’m fucking you like this? When I’m rough… when I’m claiming what’s mine?” My heart pounded so loud I could hear it in my ears. My skin was burning, my legs trembling. “Say it,” he coaxed, thumb pressing hard on my clit now, fingers curling perfectly. “Say it, baby. What do you call me w
I didn’t answer him. Not with words. Instead, I rose up on my toes, curled my fingers into his shirt, and pulled him down into another kiss. This one wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful or uncertain or held back by ghosts. It was fire. It was our long silence breaking open, of grief and lust and longing spilling into every breath. I kissed him like I wanted to burn it all down—every wall, every boundary, every stupid reason we hadn’t gotten here sooner. He groaned, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against my lips as he backed me up until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed. We fell onto it together, tangled in breath and heat and urgency. But even in the madness, he was careful—his hands on my face, his mouth moving slower than I expected. It wasn't like the other times. He wasn't trying to erase something or prove anything. He was trying to feel me. "Make love to me," I whispered against his mouth, barely recognizing my own voice. "Now. Please." His eyes met min