I sit up and scan the room. I have no desire to slip back into the dress I wore last night. I want to soak in his scent, to prolong the moment, as ridiculous as that is. So, I snag the white T-shirt from the back of the desk chair and slip it on.
Bottom lip caught between my teeth, I thread my trembling fingers through my hair. I feel like an intruder, despite what we did last night. All my curiosity about what his bedroom looks like dissipates. I stand, not moving. Did last night really happen, or was it a figment of my imagination? If not for the ache between my thighs, I might believe it was a dream.
I press my fingers to my lips, swollen and puffy. Another reminder of our all-consuming passion. Despite my nervousness, I smile.
I had sex with Hayden Hale.
Three times, plus oral for us both.
Eight orgasms between the two of us.
I squirted twice.
And the dick piercing? It left me in awe. I worry it may have ruined me for anyone else.
Hayden fucked me senseless and then held me as I drifted off.
It was almost too good to be true.
The ding of the coffee machine pulls me out of my musings. Taking a deep breath, I collect my clothes and head to my room. I throw my things on the guest bed and head to the kitchen.
Hayden is there, standing in front of the window. His back is turned to me, his shoulders tense. As usual, he’s in a pair of sweats and nothing else.
At the sound of my footsteps, he turns. “Morning,” he says, his voice casual. Almosttoocasual.
I shuffle into the room. “Morning.”
“If you want some coffee, I made enough for two.” He nods toward the coffeepot.
“Thanks. I’ll need caffeine to get through today.”
He smiles, but it fades quickly. Fuck, the tension in the room is so thick, it’s suffocating. Looks like last night didn’t help us get rid of it at all.
Steeling my spine, I head for the cabinet where he keeps the mugs. He beats me to it and holds one out to me. Our fingers brush over the ceramic, sending a bolt of electricity up my arm. My heartbeat picks up its pace, jackhammering against my ribs.
He, on the other hand, doesn’t even flinch. He just steps away with a murmured “sorry.”
“No, I—it’s fine.” I hold the mug tightly with both hands, as if it’ll keep me steady.
We fall into silence. The only sounds are the quiet hum of the fridge and the pounding of my heart.
I fill my mug then sit at the bar. Hayden saunters over, plucks a plate from the counter, and sits across from me. The actions are familiar, but after last night, nothing feels the same.
Holding my breath, I search for a topic to talk about, to break the silence, but all I can think about is last night, and the idea of bringing that up now nauseates me.
“I made this,” he says. “Nothing fancy, just avocado toast.” He nudges the plate toward me, and when I reach for a slice, our fingers nearly touch again. I panic and pull back too fast, causing the toast to flip onto the counter.
Smooth. Real smooth, Riley.My cheeks are on fire.
He chuckles under his breath, the sound throaty and way too sexy for the situation.
“This is…awkward,” I admit, picking up the toast from the counter.
“Not for me.”
Those three words hit harder than they should. I try to laugh it off, taking a bite of my toast, but it gets lodged in my throat.
He’s so calm and collected, not a single crack in that perfect poker face. How can he be so unaffected? Am I really the only one who’s feeling completely undone after last night?
