Before long, that tight coil builds again, starting low, pulling tighter with every stroke, every grind of his pelvis against mine. The sounds he’s making don’t help, rough and ravaged and right in my ear when he tucks his face into my neck.
“Summer,” he groans, lips skimming my skin.
“Right there.” My nails dig into his shoulders as I roll my hips to meet him. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t think he could if he tried.
My pleasure spikes, then I’m shattering again. My body bows, legs squeezing around him as an orgasm rips through me, clenching around him so hard he mutters a curse.
He thrusts once, twice more, then his rhythm stutters. His whole body tenses above me, a strangled sound tearing from him as he comes, his hips pressed flush to mine.
We stay there, breathing hard into the same small space, his weight braced on his forearms, my fingers hooked over his shoulders. My pulse drums in my ears.
“That’s four.” I smile. “Overachiever.”
A tired, disbelieving laugh rumbles out of him as he lowers his forehead to mine. Still inside me, his heartbeat thudding against my chest, his breath ghosting over my lips, I kiss him one more time.
It feels much too intimate and much too soft for what this was meant to be.
But I’ve never been very good at denying myself the things I want.
Right now, I want to pretend this meant as much to him as it did to me.
That we’re both in over our heads in exactly the same way.
A soft puff of air slips from Miles’s mouth.
He’s been out cold since we cleaned up and got back into bed, some unspoken agreement to sleep—actualsleep—together. I managed a catnap before the energy buzzing under my skin jolted me awake.
I prop my notepad on my knees, phone screen lighting the page while I scribble. Mostly nonsensical ideas, a few journal-style brain dumps, and a couple of chord progressions I’m dying to try on my guitar.
Which is, hopefully, still safe in my trunk along with my suitcase. My entire life packed into a duffel bag and a hard-shell case. I’m second-guessing the decision to leave everything in my car, parked outside Mia and Dom’s, instead of dragging it inside for safekeeping.
But to be fair, I didn’t plan on the night going this way. The plan was to crash there, then move into my new place in the morning.
I steal another glance at the sleeping man beside me, his naked chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. At the memory of how we got here, I twist the softest sheets I’ve ever felt between my fingers. Nothing like the scratchy linens I own.
I’m happy with my decision.
My phone screen goes black, and I tap it back to life.
Heck. When did it become six a.m.? If I want any shot at making my meeting on time, I need to leave now.
Miles shifts in his sleep, hair falling over his forehead as his head turns toward me, one hand slipping from his stomach beneath the sheets. His arms and chest look strong even in sleep, a faint line of dark hair trailing down to his softer stomach.Not razor-cut abs that photograph well, but don’t make for good cuddling.
Not that we’ll ever cuddle beyond how we fell asleep.
But I wouldn’thatea repeat of last night.
I know this is supposed to be his thing. One night, no strings. Mia warned me as much.
But it didn’t feel casual. Not to me, anyway. Maybe for him this was just another hookup, but it felt like something… more.
Either way, I wouldn’t even be in Chicago if I weren’t someone who always takes her shot.
I flip to a clean page in my notebook and jot down my number and a short message.
After tearing the page out as quietly as possible, I slide off the bed and tiptoe to his side. I fold the paper once and set it on the nightstand, angling it so he’ll see it when he reaches for his phone.
