It feels different now. Not just the sex—though, God, that too—but the quiet after. The way he holds me like he’s keeping time with my pulse. The way the air feels calm, not charged. Safe and mine. Maybe forever.
I shift a little, trying to untangle the sheets, and his grip tightens instantly.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Move.” He noses against my shoulder, the scruff of his jaw scraping lightly. “I was having a good dream.”
I smile into the pillow. “About what?”
“Pretty sure you were naked in it. Wait… yep. Definitely naked.”
“Shocking,” I deadpan. “You must have new material.”
He groans, rolling half on top of me, pressing me deeper into the mattress. “Keep talking like that and I’ll give you a rerun.”
I bite back a laugh, my hands dancing up his shoulders. “We have brunch, caveman.”
“Cancel it.”
His hips roll, just enough for me to feel the unmistakable evidence of his morning wood against me.
“Tamara will hunt us down.”
“I’d take her in a fight.”
I laugh, pressing my face against his neck. “You’d lose.”
“Definitely,” he says, voice filled with sleep and something sweeter. “But at least I’d die happy.”
I lean up, kiss him quick and soft, then shove at his chest. “Get dressed, Miller. If I’m suffering through Eli’s pancakes, you’re coming with me.”
He catches my wrist before I can escape, thumb brushing my pulse before he softly kisses the skin. “You really love me, huh?”
“If I confirm that, you’ll try to fuck me again, and we’ll be late.”
A lazy and satisfied grin pulls at his lips. “You love me.”
“I do,” I admit, smiling softly.
His warm hand reaches up and catches the back of my neck, pulling me in for a slow kiss that tastes like morning and sleep and us. When he breaks it, his voice is low but clear.
“Love you too, Lu.”
We roll out of bed, and both try to be practical—quick showers with no distractions—but that lasts all of thirty seconds before Logan decides he’s joining me.
Five minutes later, the water’s not the only thing creating steam, and by the time we actually get dressed, the bathroom mirror’s fogged, the floor’s drenched, and I’m swearing I’m never showering with him again. He doesn’t look even a little sorry.
I tug on jeans and a soft knit, then run a hand through my damp hair. No time to dry it. His hoodie sits draped over the chair, calling my name, but I leave it. Too obvious, too risky.
We take Dusty and start the walk toward Eli and Tamara’s, the morning crisp enough that my breath fogs on the air. Halfway there, a gust of wind cuts through my knit, and I instantly regret every choice I’ve ever made.
Logan glances down at me, takes in the shiver I try to disguise with crossed arms, and sighs. “Jesus, Lu.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He tugs his hoodie over his head, thrusts it toward me, and keeps walking before I can argue. “Put it on.”
