"Back to my place. You already look sleepy."
I sit up, legs still shaky, and clutch the dress to my chest. "No, I'm not." But I punctuate it with a yawn.
He gives me that hot smirk again. "Go to sleep, Em."
"But we could … I mean, don't you want to—" I point my chin at the outline of his cock.
He cups my face and kisses me. "I want to. But not tonight."
"That doesn't make sense. I'm literally offering—" I don't finish because I end up yawning again.
"My ego will be severely bruised, and I will never recover if you doze off while I'm inside you."
"Alex…"
The corner of his mouth twitches as he walks away. He opens the door and steps into the hallway. "Goodnight, Emily."
"Goodnight, Alex," I say, still sitting on the bed, feeling thoroughly ravished.
The door closes, and I force myself to stand on wobbly legs to lock it and lean against the door for a moment, trying to process what just happened. Perhaps I did die. Maybe I am in heaven.
A demanding meow breaks the moment. Not heaven, afterall.
Croissant sits at my feet, clearly unhappy with the whole situation. He's hungry and doesn't care that my world just tilted on its axis.
"Your mom has excellent taste, Croissant," I whisper. "And your soon-to-be dad has skills. Like, I mean, skills. Serious skills.”
The cat purrs, completely unbothered by this information. Unbothered and apathetic.
Still, I smile because for once, I'm not overthinking. Not worrying. Just feeling satisfied, wanted, and impossibly hopeful.
4
ALEX
The apartment sits in pre-dawn darkness when I wake up, silent except for my breathing and the occasional car passing on the street below. I should be up, dressed in my running gear, and out the door within thirty minutes. Same routine, every day.
Today, I hesitate.
Images of Emily from last night play through my mind. The way she gasped when I touched her. How she tasted. The sounds she made when she came.
I move to the kitchen, start the coffee, and stand by the balcony door, watching darkness give way to early morning light. Coffee in hand, I sit in my reading chair, staring at nothing.
For the first time in years, I deliberately break my routine.
Normally, I'd be out the door right now. Instead, I'm still in my apartment, dressed in running clothes but going nowhere.
What I want to do seems ridiculous. I'm not sure if Emily likes running, and this early in the morning on a Sunday isn't exactly social calling hours. But I want to see her.
I pace the apartment and check the clock every three minutes. Finally, at 6:08, I cross the hall and knock on her door.
The wait stretches long enough that I consider retreating. Then I hear shuffling, a thump, and muffled cursing.
The door swings open, and Emily stands there, hair a tangled mess, wearing flannel pajama shorts and an old, ratty t-shirt. Her eyes are barely open.
"Someone better be dead," she mumbles, then focuses on me. "Alex?"
"Come running with me."
