“Tell me, Hales. Did he make you feel like this?” I want to take away all the bad feelings I may have caused and give her only pleasure. I want to show her there’s only me.
She doesn’t say anything, and I pinch her nipple. She gasps. “Answer me, Hales. Did he make you feel this good?” I hit the spot again, and this time, her eyes open wide before she shakes her head.
I nod knowingly. “It’s because you are mine and I’m yours.” I pinch her nipple again, and her mouth opens on a plea.
“More,” she groans, her fingers crawling down my arms and holding my hand, guiding it to her neck. My eyes open wide, and she smiles. “I said more.”
I squeeze my fingers gently, feeling her heartbeat under my fingertips and seeing if this is what she wants. I’m so lost in her, I just . . . “Fuck, Hales.” My words carry everything I feel right now that I cannot eloquently say in any other way.
Hailey arches her back, pushing her breast against me as her glossy grey eyes darken to stormy grey. Her gaze alone could tip me over the edge, but it's her inner walls squeezing my dick that does it. She closes her eyes and opens her mouth on a silent plea, her legs shaking, her nails scratching, her breathing racing. I’m done for, completely gone for her, finally closing the space we put between us, beyond the distance.
ocean eyesby Billie Eilish
Long,soft hair covers my chest as little snores vibrate through the space.
How am I going to make this work?
I know I have to, especially considering how shitty this past year and half has been. I thought keeping her at bay was what was needed for both of us, but clearly, this is where we belong—intertwined in bed, her legs draped over mine and our hearts beating in sync. Her soft snores even out, stopping all together as she tries to move from my hold. I keep my arm wrapped around her, holding her in place.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head.
She groans and stirs. “Happy Birthday, Ash.” Her ocean eyes meet mine, stealing my breath and putting everything into perspective once again. No matter what, we need to make this work.
“Thank you, beautiful.”
“Oh, please. I probably look like I've been hit by a truck.” She stretches her arms, making noises that should not hit me all the way in my groin, but they do. I grunt.
“Someone’s not a morning person,” she comments, sliding her hand down to my dick. “But something elseis.”
Her devilish smile makes me want to do whatever it is she’s thinking, but we can’t because— “We need to talk.”
“You’re no fun.” Hailey pouts. If I didn’t know better, I would say she’s deflecting, but the Hailey who was pissed last night is not the Hailey in my arms right now, and I don’t understand the switch.
I sit up, sliding my glasses on and covering my hard on with a pillow. Of course it won’t go down when I have this girl near me. Her scent, her taste on my lips from last night, and just the sight of her would do it, let alone her sitting right there naked.
“How do you expect me to have a conversation with you when you look like that after you just woke up?” she adds, roaming her finger in the air around my body.
I let out a sigh, because somehow, we’re so in sync, she feels the same way I do. “Because we’re adults, Hailey, and we can put our lust and desire aside for a minute so we can talk, yeah?”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure. Do you want coffee?”
I nod, and in an instant, she parades her naked body out of the room and leaves me alone with my thoughts. What is the conversation I’m actually going to have here? Yes, I want to dateher, but I need to figure out what that looks like for us, with her here and me there.
Hailey comes back while I’m lost in thought, wearing an oversized t-shirt, two cups of coffee in hand. “I could have made the coffee,” I say, and she smiles softly at me.
“I wanted to do it.” She’s such a caregiver, even in the simple things like making coffee in the morning. She sits across from me, a leg under her and coffee in both hands.
“Tell me, Asher Hunter: what do we need to talk about?”
“Us,” I mutter.
“There isn’t an us, though, right?” She takes a sip and winces, either from the temperature of her drink or the words coming out of her mouth. “I mean, there isn’t anything between us beyond fucking once a year on New Year’s Eve—or am I mistaken?”
“Hales,” I whisper.
“Am I wrong?”
I shake my head and bite my lip, considering her words. Then, it hits me: she is wrong. “You said you loved me.”
