I had let him in.
Not just into my bed—or onto my table—but into the space I’d been keeping locked tight since the day Brian told me I was too much and not enough all at once.
I’d let Austin see the version of me that hadn’t existed in years, and it had felt good.
Too good.
He was still watching me when I slid off the table, his eyes tracking the way my dress fluttered down to cover my hips. Itried to ignore the rush of heat that followed. My body was still very aware of him, even if my brain was throwing up every red flag it could muster.
Austin pushed off the counter with a quiet exhale. “Give me one sec,” he murmured, brushing a hand lightly along my arm as he passed. He grabbed his jeans and disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom. I searched the floor for my discarded underwear. I found them in a rumpled pile, slipped them back on, and smoothed my skirt down with a shaky hand.
When he returned—bare-chested but freshly zipped and a little more composed—he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, golden in the dim light.
“Well.” I ran a hand through my hair and tried to laugh again. “That escalated quickly.”
“No complaints here,” he said with a smile. There it was. That smirk. Thatspark. The very one I should’ve ignored from the beginning. Instead, it made something flutter in my chest that I didn’t have a name for.
I didn’t respond, and instead I moved through the kitchen like I hadn’t just had my legs around a man who knew exactly how to use his mouthandhis dick.
His head tilted, not quite facing me. “Is this the part where you kick me out?” Austin’s voice was light, but his tone was laced with a subtle hurt. The question was light, almost teasing, but it landed with more weight than I expected.
I blinked. “What?”
He turned then, eyes meeting mine with a look that was too knowing. “It’s okay. You’re trying to figure out how to say it without hurting my feelings.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, because ... damn it, he wasn’t wrong.
I had been thinking it. Not because I wanted him gone, but because the longer he stayed, the harder it became to pretendthis was casual. The harder it was to pretend I wasn’t already craving him again—for things that had nothing to do with sex.
Maybe that was what unsettled me the most—how naturally he fit here. In my space. In this moment. Like the edges of our lives had been stitched together when I wasn’t paying attention.
I watched him from the corner of the kitchen, perched against the doorway like a woman debating whether to run or stay. So I did what I always did when emotions tangled too tight to name.
I dodged.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said, my voice soft. “And ... everything.”
He didn’t flinch. Austin nodded with a smile and turned toward the sink. He began rinsing plates, tanned skin exposed, forearms flexing as he moved like he belonged there.
I stood and stared, completely dumbfounded as to how I’d found myself in this exact scenario.
Then he set a wineglass down and stepped in close—close enough that I caught the scent of him again, woodsmoke and warm skin and something faintly citrus.
His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from my cheek.
“Selene,” he said, just my name. No question. No plea. Just ... me.
It landed with more intimacy than anything we’d done on that table.
He kissed my temple, featherlight, and pulled back with a crooked smile. “For the record, I’m not in a rush.”
I exhaled something between a laugh and a sigh. “I’m not kicking you out.”
“Good.” He turned back to the sink like that settled it, like he knew he could stay, at least for a little while.
Music still played low from the speaker on the counter—something moody and folksy, with a lilting guitar that wrappedaround the room like candlelight. Austin hummed along under his breath, washing the last of the dishes like this was any normal night and not the one where I’d just let him see more of me than anyone had in years.
His hand brushed my lower back as he passed behind me to grab a dish towel and let it linger longer than it needed to.
