Alec, too, has moments of real joy—laughter, wide smiles—something I haven’t seen from him in what feels like forever.
But all too soon, it’s time to say goodbye. Drew has a long drive ahead of him, back to school, and they’ll be leaving early in the morning. I’m not ready for it to end. I never am, especially now.
It’s four in the morning, and the house is silent. They’re all asleep, and I’m wide awake. My mind is too full, too scattered. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days.
I drizzle olive oil into the hot pan, the sizzle and pop grounding me, bringing my attention back to something simple. The comforting sounds of cooking fill the space, and I turn on my heel to scoop the mirepoix into my hand, letting the onions, carrots, and celery fall into the skillet.
The scent of it—so familiar and rich—takes me back, a task I’ve done too many times to count. It’s mindless, in the best way. But the moment her touch skates along the bare skin of my back, the world tilts.
“That smells so good,” Olivia’s voice whispers from behind me, sultry and warm, pulling me back from the haze of cooking. “What are you making at this hour?”
She doesn’t ask me why I’m awake. She knows. She’s been here before, found me in the stillness of the night, cooking, thinking, lost in my thoughts. I don’t have to explain myself to her—she knows.
I turn off the burner and set the spoon aside, moving toward her. Her warmth envelops me as I pull her into my arms, holding her close. Her body presses against mine, and I feel the heat rise between us instantly. Her lips find mine, soft at first, then urgent, as if we’re both starved for the connection.
“I was making soup.” My breath’s warm against her neck as I bury my face in the curve of her shoulder. “But now I’ve lost interest. I think I’d rather make something else.”
“Oh? What are you in the mood for?”
My hands wander to her ass and I pull her even closer. “You. I want to make love to you.”
Her breath hitches, but I can’t help myself. I trail kisses down her neck, nibbling at the soft skin there, my fingers inching beneath her shirt.
“Although…” I pause, my voice thick. “I think I’d rather devour you. You don’t need any seasoning. You taste perfect just as you are.”
As I press against her, my hands explore her body, feeling her every curve, every inch of her warmth. She responds in kind, her hands finding their way to my chest, tugging at my shirt, desperate for more contact.
Her legs wrap around my waist, and I lift her, carrying her to the kitchen chair, my body fully alive with need and desire for her.
She straddles my lap, kissing me hard, pulling me closer, deeper, as if she can’t get enough of me. I try to control myself, my hands trembling as I reach for the hem of her shirt. But then I stop, holding her wrists gently.
“Wait.” My voice is strained, barely a whisper.
She pauses, eyes wide with uncertainty, and I can see the question in her gaze. Why the sudden hesitation? Why the shift?
I don’t know what comes over me, but I feel it right there, in this quiet moment. A need to say the words.
The truth I’ve been holding back, the weight of it pressing against my chest.
“Olivia.” My voice comes out rough, thick with emotion. “I love you.”
I touch her cheek, my fingers trembling as I caress her skin. The words are too big, too powerful, and yet somehow, they’ve never felt more right.
She freezes, her eyes searching mine, her breath shaky. “I… um…” Her voice falters.
Before she can finish, she pulls me to her, fingers threading through my hair at the nape of my neck, yanking me to her mouth in a kiss that’s wild, desperate, as if she’s trying to claim me all over again.
Her tongue meets mine, hard and demanding, pushing everything else aside.
And I let her. I let her take control. I need this just as much as she does.
The kiss deepens, and everything—every thought, every doubt—vanishes. There’s nothing left but us, tangled together, lost in the quiet, frantic rhythm of our need. The world outside no longer exists.
I cup her ass and she rocks into me. My cock throbs painfully, and as much as I’m caught up in my desire for her, it isn’t lost on me that she hasn’t responded to my raw declaration.
As she works her tongue against mine, her hard nipples rub and tease my chest through the thin fabric. Her body trembles as I run my hand under her shirt, the pads of my fingers dancing across her abdomen, up to her breasts.
Palming their heaviness, I lightly pinch her peaks, rolling them between my finger and thumb. Her head tips back, her breathing ragged as she bites her lip to stifle her whimpers of satisfaction. I love watching her lose all inhibition.
