Wait.
Not a pillow. A chest.
Zander laughs at my dramatics. He sets his phone down on the quilt we pulled over ourselves sometime after the fireworks stopped.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Morning,” I say, rubbing at my eyes. “It’s too early.”
“What’s your ideal wake-up time?”
“I could sleep all day if you let me,” I say, then with a yawn, “I usually get up around 10:30 or 11. I make my own hours so I can do whatever I want. I write best in the afternoon, unless I have an idea come to me at midnight, then I’ll write into the night.”
“You’re like Batman for authors.”
“Saving the world one em-dash at a time.” He laughs, bouncing me on his chest. I roll away so I can see his gorgeous face, the crinkle of his eyes as he gazes down at me. “You seem awfully comfortable for this early. Please don’t tell me this is when you normally wake up.”
“I could tell you that…but it would be a lie.”
“Zander!” I shriek dramatically. “We have to break up now. It was a good run but I am not getting the worm.”
“It’s fine. Owls eat worms, too.”
Why is that romantic? Why am I swooning? Why do I want to make the most of the fact that I am still wearing only his shirt?
I tease my leg against his under the covers. He’s warm, pleasant, somehow sending shockwaves through my body even though I’m the one doing the work. But he catches on quickly, moving his phone from the bed to the bedside table, and—wait a minute.
“Was that Wordle?” I ask.
Zander snort laughs. The hand on my hip squeezes. “Seriously? You’re playing footsie with me and that’s what you catch?”
“Well,” I say, nudging my foot against his for good measure. “Was it?”
“It was. I got into it when everyone else did and never gave it up. My therapist says it’s a grounding technique.”
“That’s cute. Like you’re starting your day off right by being a big nerd. I respect it.”
His hand slides lower, cupping my ass. And I’m not wearing any underwear and his fingers are mere inches away from something far more PG-13 than Wordle. From his smirk, he knows it.
“What’s your starting word?” I ask.
“Adieu.”
“Oh, you’re one of those people. I always didhouse.”
“Boring word.His useless most of the time.”
“AndDisn’t?”
The hand on my ass skirts further down, along my thigh, to the back of my knee, and props my leg up on him. My core slams against his pelvis. He’s rock hard beneath his day-old shorts. I grind my hips against him, making him groan.
“You tell me.”
“I guess some aren’t entirely useless.” He flips us, parting my legs and settling in between them. There’s no hiding my desire this way. “This one’s pretty useful, I think.”
My back against the mattress is unpleasant, and I’m certain my sunburn must be angry and peeling beneath Zander’s shirt, but I don’t care. Not with him here. I grab his face and bring it down to mine. He kisses with a reckless abandon I haven’t yet seen or felt with him, leaving me breathless and wanting. Our tongues dance, messy and hot. I grip his shoulders, dig my nails in, pull him flush against me.
He redistributes his weight, holding himself up with one hand balled in the sheets, while the other explores my body. His hand creeps up the shirt that belongs to him, drawing the lines of my hips and rib cage with his fingers. Finally, he reaches my left breast and roughly grasps it. I gasp into his mouth, which then morphs into a moan as his thumb begins circling my nipple.
