I let my head fall back into the cushions and put aside the romance novel I’d spotted on Amelia’s nightstand before ourLondon trip. Curiosity got the better of me, and I ended up buying a copy for myself. Now, I push my glasses up and pinch the bridge of my nose, my mind reeling from what I’ve just read.
That scene was… scorching. The guy in the book instructed his girl to sit on his face and proceeded to devour her like a man starved. I reach down and give my rock-hard cock a squeeze through my pajama pants.
I’ve been unbelievably horny lately. Ever since I got a taste of her, it’s all I can think about.
That, and the thought of actually being with her. How it would feel. Whether I’d fuck it up. But honestly, I don’t think even that would be too terrible.
Somehow, she’s managed to quell most of my anxiety about it. I know she’d never make fun of me because she’s utterly perfect. Like she was made just for me.
Fine, made just for us.
I reach for my phone and notice it’s already after two a.m. I really need to sort out this jet lag. But the fact that she told us she wanted to spend the evening setting up her new laptop at home alone doesn’t help my whirling thoughts. I hate that I still feel like she’s pushing us away, even though we talked about it. But I get it. I really do.
We messed up big time.
I can be patient a little while longer.
As long as she won’t run again, I’m golden.
Before I finally try to sleep, I decide to send Amelia a quick text in our private chat.
Thinking about you.
Removing my glasses, I place them and my phone on the bedside table. My hands come to rest on my bare chest, andI turn my head, inhaling the lavender scent of my pillow. I’m imagining her lying next to me when my phone chimes.
I perk up and hastily put my glasses back on to find a message from Amelia.
Amelia
Come and hold me?
I drop the phone, practically leaping out of bed. Without a second thought, I dash out of our apartment and take the stairs two at a time down to hers. Outside her door, I knock, and a moment later, she opens it, a smile spreading across her lips as her eyes roam over me.
I’m only in my pajama pants, having even forgotten to put on shoes. She’s wearing an adorable strawberry print T-shirt with matching shorts, but her eyes are suspiciously red behind her glasses.
Has she been crying?
“That was quick,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement.
“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling a bit sheepish.
She laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out, and pulls me into the apartment. After she locks the door and double-checks it, she takes my hand and leads me to her dimly lit bedroom.
As we enter, I try to steady my breath, focusing on masking the rapid thud of my heart—from the sprint and her presence—but it’s no use. We lie down, and I draw her close to me, spooning her from behind, my arms encircling her as I burrow my nose in her hair.
Mine.
Maybe she’s finally done with pushing me away.
She strokes my forearms while I deeply inhale her scent, my favorite lavender, andherfragrance fills my nostrils.
“Why are you still up?” she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Because I was fantasizing about tasting you again.
“Why are you?” I counter instead. When I feel her turning, I loosen my hold on her so she can face me, but she doesn’t answer.
I stroke her cheek, counting the freckles on her nose while we just breathe together.
