She meets my eyes in the mirror. I see the contrast of my hands against the pale skin of her waist. I see the way the red lace cuts across her curves. Most of all, I see the way she’s looking at me in the reflection—eyes wide and dark.
Searching.
“You’re beautiful, Piper. See it.”
I start with the small silk ribbons at her hips. I untie the first one, letting the fabric fall away. Then the second. I do it slowly, making her watch the transition. My fingers brush against the curve of her stomach, and I see her breath hitch, her chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm.
I reach for the clasp of the bra. With a single flick of my fingers, the tension snaps. I peel the lace back, my eyes locked on hers in the mirror as her breasts swell, freed from the fabric. The cool air hits her skin, making her nipples harden instantly.
She’s completely bare now, standing in the circle of my arms. I run my fingers over her shoulders, the touch light. I track the line of her collarbone before sliding my palms down, cupping her breasts. I drag my thumbs over the peaks, and a small, broken gasp escapes her.
My hands continue their descent, smoothing over her stomach, tracing the dip of her navel. She’s shaking, her legs looking like they might give out, and then I slide my fingers lower. I find her, wet and ready, and my touch settles directly on her.
“Watch,” I whisper.
She tries to close her eyes, but I keep my gaze on her in the reflection, my thumb moving in a slow, heavy circle. She grips my forearms, her knuckles white, her head falling back against my shoulder. I watch the way her face comes apart in the mirror. I circle, press, and drag until the air in the room feels too thin to breathe.
The pressure builds, coiling so tight I can feel the tension in her muscles. I don’t let up. I drive her right to the edge and push. She comes hard, her body jerking against mine, a moan leaving her throat as the reflection blurs into nothing but heat and skin.
When the tremors finally slow, I don’t let her feet hit the floor. I scoop her up, carry her to the bed, and lay her back against the pillows.
The energy has changed. The frantic adrenaline from the festival is gone, replaced by something heavier. Something bittersweet. We both know what tomorrow brings—the long stretch of highway, the return to a world where we aren’t just two people in a car.
I settle between her legs, my hands framing her face. When I kiss her, it tastes like a goodbye we aren’t ready to say yet.
It’s slow when I slide inside her. I fill her completely, pausing to let her body adjust, my eyes fixed on hers. There’s no rushing this. I want to memorize how she feels, how her breath hitches when I move, and how her hands slide up my back to pull me closer.
I move with a steady pace. Each thrust is deep and grounding, a reminder of exactly where we are and who we are to each other in this moment. Piper arches her back, her fingers fisting in the sheets, her voice a series of small, breathless whimpers that I catch with my mouth.
It’s quiet in the room, just the sound of our skin meeting and our jagged breathing. The weight of tomorrow is in the air, making every touch feel more urgent, more permanent. I want to leave a mark. I want her to feel this all the way back to the city.
I pick up the pace, my movements becoming more forceful as the finish nears. Piper wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down until there’s no space left between us. She’s whispering my name, and it shatters the last of both of our control.
I drive into her one last time, our bodies locking tight as we both fall over the edge. She’s shaking underneath me, her own climax rippling through her.
We stay like that for a long time, tangled together in the dark.
The road is waiting, and real life is coming, but for now, the only thing that matters is the heat of her skin and the fact that she’s still here.
I’m not going anywhere yet.
∞∞∞
Later, she’s lying across my chest. Her hair is spread out, her breathing has gone slow, and the red lace is abandoned somewhere on the floor. Neither of us has any interest in locating it. The town outside has gone quiet, and I’m staring at the ceiling.
Her hand moves in slow, absent strokes against my skin.
“Griffin?”
“What up, Pipes?”
“I played tonight.”
“You did.”
She tilts her head to look up at me. “I actually played. It came back.”
“It was always there.”
