He shifts before I can push further. “You almost done?”
“Yeah. Just a couple of things left to finish up and then I’m off.”
He stays, not hovering or rushing me. He just waits against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching me move behind the bar like he has nowhere else he needs to be.
When I finally grab my jacket and purse, he leads me outside without comment.
Outside, the night air is cool, the noise from the bar fading behind us. The parking lot is mostly empty now, streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. He walks close enough that our shoulders and hands brush, but he keeps his right side slightly angled away.
He opens my door before I can, his left hand gripping the frame.
“You good to drive?” he asks.
“I’m good.”
He watches me for a second longer than necessary, as though he’s making sure, then nods and shuts the door gently once I’m inside.
I catch a glimpse of him in my rearview mirror as he heads toward his truck, climbing in and starting it up. He doesn’t pull out until I do.
He follows me the whole way.
When we reach the farm, he parks behind me and is out of his truck before I’ve even killed the engine. By the time I’m stepping out, he’s there, reaching for me with the urgency of someone who’s been waiting for the chance to touch me again.
He leads me up the stairs, his fingers warm around mine as we step through the door. It’s quiet once the door closes behindus. I’m almost not used to the silence of being away from the city. It’s so different from all the places we lived growing up, moving from town to town, mobile homes to apartments.
It’s a stark reminder that this space isn’t mine. Not really. I’m only here because he’s worried about my safety.
He locks the door behind us, and the click echoes softly. He turns toward me, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Something has shifted between us over the past few days.
“I’ve been thinking about last night,” he says, his voice low, and it makes my stomach flip.
He doesn’t look away when he says it. His gaze drags over me slowly, like he’s remembering every second of it.
“You have?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Couldn’t stop.”
The words aren’t cocky. They’re honest.
I step into him before I can overthink it. My hands slide up his chest, slower than before. It’s almost as if I need to feel him to ground myself. He exhales deeply, his body relaxing as though he’s releasing tension he’s been carrying all night.
“I didn’t want to leave this morning,” he admits quietly. “I laid there with you curled into my side, thinking about waking you up again.”
I can still feel him next to me, the weight of his arm wrapped around me.
He doesn’t give me time to overthink it.
His mouth finds mine again, slower this time, like he wants to take his time. His hands slide to my hips, drawing me flush against him. I feel him growing hard between us, the memory of last night flashing through my mind.
His left arm wraps around my waist, holding me tight.
We move slowly without really thinking about it. His mouth never leaves mine until the back of my legs hit the couch.
“I keep replaying every second,” he murmurs against my lips. “All the sounds you made, and the way you looked at me.”
My pulse stutters, heat rising in my cheeks.
