Page 70 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

“Because I mean it.”

I look at his hands on his knees. The same hands I used to know by touch in the dark.

“I'm scared,” I say.

“That's not nothing.” He reaches over, just his fingertips against mine. Not pushing. Just there. “But you're still here. You didn't kick me out last night. You didn't wake up and go.”

“I thought about it.”

A quiet exhale. Almost a laugh. “I know that too.”

I turn my hand over.

He laces his fingers through mine, easy, like he's been doing it for years instead of for the first time since everything fell apart.

I look at him for a long moment. The man who left. All the distance between us, and somehow we are back together, early morning light spilling across the sheets, and he is holding my hand like it means something.

I lean forward and close the space.

He goes still when my mouth meets his. A held moment, just a breath. Then he kisses me back—slow, intentional, like he's afraid I'll pull away. His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and the familiar taste of him hits me harder than I expect. No rush. Just the quiet press and retreat, the soft catch of breath when our noses brush.

It's different from before.

Not frantic like when we were twenty-one. Not champagne-fueled like the rooftop. This is deliberate. Almost reverent.

He brings his hand up to my face, thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. I lean into it, letting my eyes close for a second.

“Andrew,” I whisper against his mouth.

“I've got you,” he murmurs back. The same words from the hot tub, but quieter now. Heavier.

I pull him with me as I lie back. He follows without hesitation, settling over me but keeping most of his weight on his forearms. His body is warm and solid, the scent of him—soap and sleep and something unmistakably Andrew—wrapping around me.

He kisses me deeper, slower, tongue sliding against mine in long, lazy strokes that make heat pool low in my belly. One of his hands trails down my side, slipping under the hem of my tank top. His palm is rough against my skin as he pushes the fabric up, exposing me inch by inch.

When the cool air hits my breasts, my nipples tighten instantly. Andrew pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and intent.

“God, Riley...” His voice is rough, almost pained. “You're beautiful.”

He lowers his head and presses open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, then lower, until his lips close around one nipple. The wet heat of his mouth makes me gasp. He sucks gently, tongue circling, while his hand palms the other breast, thumb brushing the sensitive peak in slow, thoughtful strokes.

I arch into him, fingers threading through his hair. Every pull of his mouth sends sparks straight between my legs. He takes his time, switching sides, lavishing the same thorough attention until I'm breathing hard and shifting restlessly beneath him.

His free hand slides down my stomach, pausing for a heartbeat over the still-flat plane where my baby is growing. The touch is so tender it makes my throat tighten. Then he continues lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts.

His fingers find me already slick. He groans softly against my breast as he parts my folds, circling my clit with feather-light touches that make my hips jerk.

“So wet,” he whispers. “Just from this?”

I can't answer with words. I only nod and rock against his hand.

He pushes one thick finger inside me, then two, curling them slowly while his thumb keeps those maddening circles on my clit. The pace is unhurried, deep, like he's learning me all over again. Every stroke drags pleasure through me in long, rolling waves.

A moan tears out of me, thighs trembling. He keeps the pace steady, never rushing, drawing it out until I'm gasping and clutching at his shoulders.

When I finally come, it's slow and deep—a shuddering wave that rolls through me and leaves me boneless. He stays with me through every pulse, murmuring soft praises against my skin.

Only when my breathing starts to settle does he withdraw his fingers. He kisses me again, letting me taste myself on his tongue.