“You know,” I teased, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “distracted is one way to put it. Reckless might be another.”
He chuckled, low and rumbling, leaning in until his nose brushed mine. “Reckless with you? Always worth it.” His lips captured mine then, softly at first, a gentle press that lingered like the slow sway we'd shared moments ago. I sighed into it, my hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him deeper.
The kiss built slowly, his tongue teasing the seam of my lips until I parted them, inviting him in. He tasted like morning coffee and lazy mornings, and I melted against him, the cool counter a sharp contrast to the warmth blooming between us. One hand cupped the back of my neck, tilting my head just so, while the other squeezed my thigh, thumb circling in lazy patterns that sent little sparks racing up my spine.
I nipped at his bottom lip, earning a soft groan that vibrated through me. “Careful,” he murmured against my mouth, his breath hot and uneven. “Or we might burn the whole place down.”
“Is that a promise?” I whispered back, smiling into the next kiss, deeper now, our bodies pressing closer as the world narrowed to just this — just us, tangled and teasing in the smoky morning light.
His hips shifted forward, the thin fabric of his pajama pants doing little to hide the growing hardness of his cock pressing against my inner thigh. I rocked against him instinctively, feeling the heat of him through the sweatshirt that barely covered me below. My pussy clenched at the friction, a soft whimper escaping as his hand slid higher, fingers brushing the edge of my underwear, teasing without fully touching.
He broke the kiss just enough to trail his lips down my neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point there while his thumb grazed my clit in a slow, deliberate circle. “Fuck, you're already wet,” he breathed, voice rough with want, his free hand gripping my hip to pull me flush against his erection.
I gasped, arching into his touch, my socks slipping slightly as I tightened my legs around him. “All your fault,” I managed, nipping at his earlobe before capturing his mouth again, tongues tangling in a messy, heated rhythm that matched the grind of our bodies.
The rhythm of our kisses grew frantic for a moment, his fingers dipping just inside my slick entrance before pulling back, teasing me with the promise of more. I ground against his hard cock, the fabric of his pants rough against my skin, aching with need as his thumbpressed firmer on my clit, circling with just enough pressure to make my breath hitch.
“God, youalwaysfeel so good,” he groaned into my mouth, his hips bucking forward in a slow thrust that had me moaning softly. His free hand roamed up under the sweatshirt, palming my breast, thumb flicking over my hardened nipple until I arched into him, chasing the sparks of pleasure.
But then, as suddenly as the heat had spiked, he eased back, his touches turning lighter, more playful. He nipped at my lower lip one last time before pulling away just enough to meet my eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. His fingers stilled on my clit, tracing lazy patterns instead, keeping the warmth simmering without pushing further.
“We should probably salvage breakfast before the smoke alarm goes off again,” he murmured, voice husky but laced with that teasing lilt I loved. He didn't move away though, staying pressed close, his erection still firm against me as if reluctant to let the moment end.
I laughed breathlessly, my hands sliding down to rest on his shoulders, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Or we could just order pizza and stay like this all day.” I wiggled my hips a little, earning a low chuckle from him, his hands settling on my waist to steady me.
“Tempting,” he admitted, leaning in for a soft, lingering kiss that was all sweetness now, no edge. “But we are snowed in, honey. No one’s getting in, and you’redefinitelynot getting out.” His eyes sparkled with mock seriousness, and I swatted his chest lightly, both of us dissolving into easy laughter as the morning light filtered through the window, chasing away the last wisps of smoke.
Chapter 33
Desmond
Ihad no business being awake.
That was the first thought I had as I stood in line, snow melting into my collar, my hands wrapped around nothing but air while I waited for a cup of coffee that wasn’t even for me. I should have been asleep. I should have been conserving myself the way I always did — rationing energy, rationing feeling, staying just this side of functional. Instead, I was wide open and humming, like someone had reached inside my chest and turned a dial I didn’t know existed.
Not even five hours after she’d left my house, post-snowstorm, and I found myself missing her.
I kept replaying her order in my head, terrified I’d forget some crucial detail. Extra foam. One sugar. She hated lids unless she was walking far, saying it dulled the smell. I could hear her voice as clearly as if she were standing beside me, elbowing my ribs, calling me ridiculous for trying so hard. The thought made my mouth curve up before I could stop it.
Jesus Christ.
I took the cup with a murmured thanks and stepped back outside, the cold biting sharp and clean against my face. Snow fellsteadily, thick enough to soften the world, to make the streetlight’s glow like something out of a memory instead of real life. Everything felt slowed, muted, like the city itself was holding its breath.
I held the coffee too carefully. Both hands. Like it mattered. Like I could protect it from more than just spilling.
The truth crept up on me halfway down the block, quiet and insistent, and stopped me cold: Imissedher. Actively. Physically. The way you notice when a sound you’ve grown used to disappears. My place had felt wrong without her — too neat, too still, like it was waiting for her to just… walk back through the door. I’d gone to bed alone and spent half the night staring at the ceiling, cataloging all the small things I hadn’t known I’d learned about her until they were gone.
Her shoes by the door.
The way she stole the blankets without apologizing.
The warmth of her back when she slept, solid and unafraid.
I hadn’t expected that part. The trust. The way she took up space as if she belonged there.
I imagined her at work now, hair pulled back tight because she never remembered to loosen it until it started to ache, shoulders already carrying too much. I imagined handing her the cup, watching her eyes flick down to it and then back up to me, that soft, surprised look she got when someone did something kind without making a joke out of it. I imagined the split second where she’d pretend not to care — and then fail.
The image hit me hard enough that I had to stop walking.
