If this is our only night together, then I’m going to make it one to remember.
“Let me be clear,” I say, leaning back on the couch, my body angled in her direction. “We’re doing this your way, your rules—and I agree to them. But it’s still sex, and I don’t do sex with a timer. It’s not even about an end goal for me. It’s about feeling good—about making you feel good.” My cock is already hardening at the thought of what Daisy will look like and sound like when we’re together. “If you and I are doing this…getting each other out of our systems, then I think another rule should be that we don’t hold back.”
“Okay.” She licks her top lip, then nods. “Then pizza can wait.”
“Good. The bedroom’s better.” I stand and offer her my hand. “In the common area we share, it might make things weird.”
She leads the way, running her hand over Freddie, who’s passed out on the back of the couch. Her room reminds me a lot of how she decorated as a teen, but more refined. A gallery wall of framed images and concert tickets has replaced magazine clippings and vision boards. Instead of a beanbag chair, she has a red vintage armchair and an ottoman. She’s added a cute touch to every lamp, covering them with silk scarves to diffuse the lighting.
I pause between the doorway and her bed, and she turns to stare at me. We’re standing on the edge of something, ready to fall together, but we have to jump first.
“Is this strange for you?” she asks, bathed in the golden light.
“It’s more formulaic than I’m used to.”
“Sorry. Alex and I were so busy most of the time that we had to schedule sex, so I talk about this like I’m making brunch plans.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say. She has some strands of hair dangling in front of her eyes, so I brush them behind her ear. “But please don’t mention Alex right now.”
“Sure.” She swallows, and her eyes dart down to my mouth for a millisecond. “Are you going to kiss me?”
“Maybe. Are you going to laugh at me again?”
“If I can find an air mattress on its last breath, then probably.”
I grin. “Let me run a quick errand.”
“Max, would you kiss me already and—”
In an abrupt swoop, I dip my head down so our lips meet. The connection is sweet and simple—the kissing equivalent of reading the room. Our mouths together feel like coming home after a long trip away, comforting and right. We both take tiny steps to close the space between our bodies, and my hands lift to cradle each side of her jaw. Daisy wraps an arm around me, her hand snaking under my shirt while her cool palm on my back makes me shudder. Our lips find each other again, this time parting so our tongues reach out, seeking and searching.She releases the softest moan against my mouth, and the sensation travels directly to my dick.
All the nagging worries—that this will change our friendship forever, that I won’t be good enough for her, or that Tate is too far away from Harlow—escape my thoughts whenever I’m around her. They all shift to the background as we become two entangled bodies, heat and breath and need. She tastes minty and sweet, overpowering and gentle, and the flavor instantly becomes my favorite.
“We’re really doing this,” she murmurs, trailing her hands to my chest.
I grunt in response. All that talk before about not racing to the finish line, and I can’t wait for what’s next. I’m overwhelmed byher—her curves, her soft lips, her satiny hair, and the way my skin turns to fire under her touch. She coaxes me to the mattress and we fall onto it, enmeshed in each other.
I’m here with Daisy Johnson, my childhood fantasy. My adult fantasy, if I’m being honest. She’s perfect, and I’m in bed with her.
“I can’t believe I get to do this,” I say between kissing the clusters of freckles and beauty marks on her neck. “In high school, I dreamed of this.”
“You could have told me. I always liked hearing you talk about your dreams.”
“Even if you hadn’t been dating someone, I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Don’t do that.” She pulls back an inch so we’re breathing each other in. “Don’t make me some unattainable thing. I’m just Daisy.”
The Daisy I rode bikes with and broke into neighbors’ pools with. The Daisy I always looked for first at house parties. The Daisy who, whether I liked it or not, I compared every other woman I dated to.
“Just Daisy.” My breath hitches, and she hooks one leg up and over my hip.
“Good.” She fights a coy smile. “So when you fuck me, it’s like fucking any other girl, okay?”
That will be impossible, but I gulp and nod anyway.
She presses into me for another kiss, and my chest explodes.
“Since we’re sharing,” she says, “remember when you ran me that bath earlier this week? I, um, I had a solo session thinking of you.”
