Peyton chuckled. He took his towel and wiped my nose. “I need the bathroom,” he said, then hesitated, then pulled me back up for a kiss, deep and sloppy. “Be right back.”
I looked around at the mess we’d made of the room, then enjoyed another wave of satisfaction before I went to cleaning up the rest of it. Getting to know Peyton deeper, it opened up new dimensions to the sex and feelings that were… complicated. I’d had plenty of amazing chemistry, people so compatible sex was like a choreographed dance.
But with Peyton, it was different. Our connection expanded and grew in every way, not just sexually. It was the exact thing I’d spent my life avoiding, the kind of relationship I swore that I wasn’t available for. Caring for another person meant I might fuck things up or get cut off again, so I’d made a life where I always had to leave. It was easier that way, when I could be in charge of my own happiness. Sure, I’d thought I might consider something more once I settled in Pittsburgh, but I hadn’t expected to turn around and walk right into it.
I hadn’t expected how much it would satisfy and please me to clean Peyton up after some messy sex or how nice his big body felt, pressed to mine. Hookups never spent the night at my place, but I was already excited to have him there in the morning.
Fuck me. Thirty-six years old and not a single actual relationship to account for it. Was feeling this good when you kept hooking up with someone normal?
Then Peyton came back into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist. I saw the easy smile on his face and the gentle way he came toward me, then pulled me into a kiss.
“Actually,” he said, “want to take a shower with me?”
And nope, no way feeling this good could be normal.
