We collapse together, our slick, overheated bodies sliding against one another as I fall onto her. The room goes quiet except for our shared breaths.
I gave her everything…and somehow, impossibly, I already want her again.
I press slow kisses along her shoulder, lingering over the constellation of freckles there. “I think another day without power might be perfect, actually.”
She giggles, soft and sweet. “We can do this with power, you know.”
“I guess that’s true.” I roll to her side, still breathless.
She finds my hand immediately and threads her fingers through mine. The contact makes something deep inside me settle.
“I have a secret,” she murmurs, tracing her thumb over the back of my hand.
I bring our joined fingers to my mouth and brush them with a kiss. “What’s that?”
“I’ve never had an orgasm with another person,” she says quietly, “until last night.”
I freeze. “What?”
She turns her head toward me, eyes steady. “You’re my first.”
“Your first?” I repeat, stunned.
“You’re my second partner…but my first orgasm. I’ve never had one with a partner before.”
“You’re kidding.”
I’m not even sure which part I’m reacting to—the fact that at twenty-seven I’m only her second partner…or that I’m her first orgasm. Both hit me like a punch, pride mingling with a strange ache for everything she’s never been given.
But she’s opening up to me. Trusting me. So I don’t pry further. I’m just grateful.
Still holding her hand, I shift onto my side to face her fully. “Well,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, “if that’s the case, then we have a lot of catching up to do.”
Her lips curve into a slow smile. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” I tug her closer. “And it’s going to be fun.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
MIRANDA
The heavy cocoon of blankets is wrapped around me so completely that the only thing sticking out is my head—topped with a knit beanie and the hood of Miles’s massive sweatshirt. Miles sits across from me on the couch, facing me, equally buried under his own mountain of fabric. From the outside, we probably look like two sentient sleeping bags trying to survive the apocalypse.
One of his hands emerges from the blanket like a pale, heroic groundhog holding a slice of pizza. He nudges it toward my mouth.
I lean forward and take a bite. “Oh my God,” I mutter around the molten cheese. Thankfully, the local pizza place has a generator. Because let’s be honest—whatever nonsense is in our pantry was not going to keep us alive.
Miles snorts. “Hits the spot, right?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “I’ve never tasted pizza so good and warm.”
He grins and hands me the rest of the slice.
“Okay,” I say, chewing, “this is getting a little ridiculous. It is so cold. I think it might be time we venture to a hotel.”
Miles barks out a laugh. “What are you talking about? We’re totally fine.”
