He grins wider. “Gotta say, peaches, this is a first. Thought I was the one who was supposed to sneak out before morning.”
I huff, yanking my tank top over my head. “I wasn’t sneaking.”
His brow arches, totally unconvinced. “Mm-hmm.”
I scowl, crossing my arms. “I was just getting dressed.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “And avoiding looking at me while you did it?”
“I was not?—”
“Oh, you totally were.” His grin is all teeth now, downright cocky as he shifts, the blanket slipping lower on his hips.
I hate that my gaze immediately dips down. Hate even more that last night comes flashing back in a rush—his hands on my body, his mouth, the way he fucking destroyed me.
I snap my head back up. “I need coffee.”
Carson chuckles as I shove my shorts on and practically stomp toward the kitchen. His voice follows me, teasing and far too satisfied.
“You’re welcome for the orgasms, by the way.”
I flip him off without looking back.
And fuck—I can still hear his laughter.
The second I step into the kitchen, I pull in a deep breath and straighten my spine. I am fine. This is fine. No big deal.
I move on. I don’t get attached. Last night was just?—
Carson fucking me into next week and making me forget my own name.
I groan under my breath and yank open the cabinet for a coffee mug. Twisting around, I find him behind me.
My pulse kicks, hands tightening on the mug as I force myself to ignore him. Easier said than done when he’s right there—radiating heat, every inch the kind of morning-after fantasy I should never admit I want.
Jeans hang low, button undone, gravity the only thing keeping them on him. His chest is bare, golden skin stretched over muscle, shoulders rolling as he cracks his neck, casual as hell, owning the space without even trying.
Nope. Absolutely not. Not going there.
I school my face, turn back to the machine, press the button, sip coffee. Pretend I don’t feel every move he makes. Pretend my body isn’t buzzing. Pretend my scent isn’t giving me away.
He props a hip against the counter, smirk already carved into place, cocky amusement rolling off him. Eyes steady on me, sharp, knowing. He doesn’t need to say a word—I can already feel him laughing at the show I’m putting on.
I refuse to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the coffee as it drips into my mug.
“You sure you weren’t sneaking out?” His voice is thick with amusement, a low rasp that curls down my spine.
I scoff, giving him a side-eye. “I live here.”
He lifts a brow, tilting his head. “That didn’t stop you from trying.”
I roll my eyes and grab the sugar, dumping a scoop into my cup before reaching for the creamer.
Carson moves.
Quick. Smooth. Effortless.
Suddenly, I’m caged in, his arm braced on the counter beside me, his bare chest just there behind me, his body pressing the faintest bit into mine. I go still, my breath catching in my throat.
