My heart skips ten beats on the ride, and it’s nearly one when I arrive, sprinting out of the Lyft to her porch, tapping in her code, creaking open the door so it doesn’t wake her. I toe off my shoes at the entrance, and set my jacket and tie down at the hall table. Her place is quiet, the lights dimmed.Only a night-light in the bathroom illuminates the way home—to her.
Unbuttoning my shirt as I walk quietly in my socks, I’m half undressed by the time I reach her doorway.
My chest tightens, squeezes hard when I see her. She’s curled up on her side, chestnut hair spilling across the pillowcase, moonlight from the window casting a soft, silvery glow across her face.
Her eyes are closed, and her breathing is slow and steady.
And my head feels fuzzy. My body feels light. My fingers tingle. It’s ridiculous the way she makes me feel.Alive.
Everywhere.
But most of all in this organ in my chest that’s been on ice for so long. It’s thudding painfully against my rib cage, but it’s a good pain. A pain I want as I strip off my pants, take off my socks, and set my phone down on the other nightstand.
I slip into bed, sliding under the covers where it’s warm and welcoming, and I get to be near her. I inch closer, and my breath halts.
She’s wearing my jersey still.
She’s wearing my goddamn jersey, and she smells like flowers and clean laundry and every single morning and every single night.
I can’t resist. I wrap an arm around her, needing to hold her, wanting to have her. I bury my face in her neck, dropping a soft, barely there kiss to her perfect shoulder.
She stirs, shifting, making a low, humming sound.
Shit. I didn’t mean to wake her up.
Yes you did, you liar.
“You won,” she says.
“You came,” I say.
“Were you surprised?”
“Yes, and I loved it,” I say.And I think I love you.
“Good. I wanted to give you a good surprise.”
“You’re the best surprise,” I whisper into her ear, but guilt at waking her digs into my chest. Tomorrow’s her sister’s wedding, and she needs to beon. “Go to sleep, beautiful.”
“I will,” she says, soft and a little slurry. She takes one breath, then another, and something must perk her up since she says, more clearly now, “But I have another surprise for you.”
Before I know it, the beauty in my jersey turns around, climbs over me, and pins my wrists. “This is a much better kidnapping,” I murmur.
“I’d like to kidnap your dick with my mouth,” she says, then shimmies down the bed, yanks off my boxer briefs and wraps her lips around my half-hard cock in seconds flat.
My brain sizzles. My body sparks.
“Fuck, Remy,” I moan, gazing down at the sight of her with my cock—now rock hard—down her throat. “Your mouth is incredible.”
She lets me fall from her lips. “Fuck my mouth then. You know you want to.”
“More than anything,” I say, then I give in to this midnight moment. To this woman kneeling between my spread thighs, sucking on my dick, playing with my unwaxed balls, making me feel like a goddamn king.
I don’t deserve her.
I really don’t.
But I’m going to do everything I can to show her she deserves the world.
