But this—him—feels different.
Adam leans against the headboard, hair mussed, chest bare, watching me as if he’s memorizing details no one’s ever bothered to.His grin is still wicked, but softer now, as if the night burned off the edges.
I should already be gone.That’s the rhythm I know—slip out, no note, no second look.Pretend it never mattered because it never did.
Only… my body doesn’t want to move.My pulse isn’t racing with the itch to escape.
Last night replays in flashes—his mouth at my throat, the press of his palm at the small of my back, the way he pulled me closer instead of pushing me away when I gave too much of myself.And now, this morning, there’s nothing transactional in the way he passes me a fork, or teases me about coffee, or meets my eyes like he actually wants to know what’s inside me.
It hits me hard enough that I set the mug down, afraid I’ll drop it.
What if this is my chance?Not just another anonymous fog, not just another hour lost.What if this man, this morning, is the crack in the pattern I didn’t know I was desperate to break?
Something that matters.Something that might last.
“You’re quiet,” Adam says, breaking into my thoughts.He tilts his head, studying me like he’s not afraid of what he’ll see.“That’s not how you were last night.”
Heat creeps up my neck.“Too much coffee,” I lie, fingers tapping the rim of the mug.
Adam doesn’t buy it.His eyes linger, sharp but not unkind, like he can peel back the layers I’ve spent years piling on.“No.It’s something else.”
I want to laugh it off, crack a joke, slip back into the role I know.But my chest feels tight, like he’s pressed a hand right over the part of me that never gets touched.
“You look like you’re somewhere far away,” he says softer this time, leaning in until his shoulder brushes mine.“I’d rather you stay here.With me.”
The words are simple, but they land like a stone dropped in still water.My stomach flips, and I can’t look at him, not when he’s close enough that I could kiss him without thinking.
He nudges my knee with his.“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
The request is dangerous.No one asks that.No one wants more than my body, the burn of my mouth, the release I can give them.But he’s looking at me like he already knows I’m weighing the risk.
“I don’t…” My throat works around the words.“This—” I gesture between us.“It’s not usually like this in the morning.”
Adam’s mouth curves, not smug, not teasing, just warm.“Good.Then let’s not do usual.”
My tongue feels clumsy, like it’s forgotten how to work.The easy answer would be to kiss him, to let my mouth do the talking the way it always has.But if I dodge this, I’ll regret it.
“I’ve… been with a lot of guys,” I admit, eyes fixed on the coffee swirling in my mug.“Most of the time, it all just… blends together.Faces.Names.Rooms.Doesn’t matter.It’s all the same.”
Adam doesn’t flinch.He just waits, steady and patient.
I risk a glance at him.“But you…” My chest aches.“You stand out.Last night—this morning—it feels different.I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing saying this.”
His hand comes down on mine, fingers warm, certain.He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t claim, just rests there like an anchor.“You don’t have to know what you’re doing,” he says.“You just have to decide if you want more.”
My pulse hammers in my throat.“And if I do?”
Adam leans in until our foreheads touch, his voice a breath between us.“Then we figure it out.Together.”
The simple promise knocks the air from my lungs.I close my eyes, and for the first time in a long while, the fog clears.
I tip my face up, and his lips are right there.The first brush is almost shy, like we’re both afraid to break whatever spell is holding us.But when his hand slides to the back of my neck, I open to him, and the kiss sharpens into something hungrier.
The coffee cools on the table, forgotten.His mouth tastes faintly of it, bitter and sweet, and when his tongue teases against mine, I groan into him.
Adam pulls me into his lap, my thighs straddling him, and the morning light spilling in through the curtains paints everything in shades of gold.His hands roam slow but deliberate, up my back, down to my hips, slipping under the hem of my shirt.
“I could get used to this,” he murmurs against my mouth, and the words set me on fire.
