“Your turn to pick the music,” he says, tossing his phone onto the bed.
I scroll through his playlists, settling on something low and vibey.
I press play and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the room. Troy smiles, approving of my choice.
“I didn't know you were into indie folk,” he says, sitting beside me on the bed, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“There's a lot you don't know about me,” I reply, my eyes flicking down to his full lips.
He leans back against the headboard, eyes never leaving mine. “I'm learning, though.”
“Your family is really nice,” I say, changing the subject because the intensity in his eyes is too much right now. “I see where you get it from.”
“Get what?”
“Your you-ness. Your family is warm, open. I like your mom; she seems really relaxed.”
Troy's expression softens. “Yeah, she's always been like that.”
I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “It shows. In you, I mean.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you complimenting me, Greer? Should I be worried?”
“Shut up.” I laugh, nudging him with my foot. “I'm trying to have a moment here.”
Troy catches my ankle, his thumb brushing over the bone in a slow circle that sends shivers up my spine. “I like moments with you.”
His voice drops lower, intimate and warm in the dim light of his childhood bedroom. The combination of thefamiliar—his old posters, trophies—with the present—us, here, together—creates something new and strangely perfect.
“Do you?” I whisper.
He tugs gently on my ankle until I'm sliding toward him across the sheets. “More than I expected to. I want more of them. Millions of moments with you. I am greedy for moments with you, Delilah.”
My heartbeat accelerates as he leans forward, one hand moving to cup my face. His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I can't help the small intake of breath.
“Your mom's right down the hall,” I remind him, but I don't pull away.
Troy's lips quirk up at the corners. “Then I guess you'll have to be quiet.”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, gentle at first, then deeper as I melt into him. His hands slide beneath the oversized t-shirt, warm against my skin.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs against my neck.
“Yes,” I respond, because it is. More than okay.
He shifts us until I'm beneath him, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the most delicious way. There's something different about him tonight—more tender, less performative. Like being in this house, surrounded by the memories of who he was before, has stripped away some of his usual bravado.
“You're thinking too much again,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to study my face. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, search mine. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
I swallow hard, my hands sliding up his bare chest. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, about you making me feel good.”
His smile turns wicked. “I can help with that.”
Troy's mouth captures mine again, hungrier now. His hand slips between us, fingers finding the edge of my underwearand teasing along the elastic. I arch into his touch, already embarrassingly wet for him.
“Fuck.” He breathes against my lips when his fingers slide against me. “You're already so ready for me.”
I bite my lip to keep from moaning as he circles my clit with expert precision. “Troy?—”
