Page 25

“You still with me?”

She turns her head just enough for our eyes to meet, her thumb brushing across my knuckles. “I’m with you.”

I close my eyes for the briefest second, knowing I’ll remember those words long after tonight, before sinking into her slowly. I stop the moment I feel her tense, giving her time to adjust. My thumb strokes across the back of her hand until the tightness beneath me melts away. When she nods, I answer with a kiss instead of words, letting her set the pace.

Her heels dig into my back, her arms wrap around my shoulders, and I move with her before murmuring, “That’s it, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Her hips lift to meet mine, and I slide in and out of her slowly. Every time she meets me, instead of shrinking away, something inside me comes undone. I can’t tell whether I’m trying to memorize her or convince myself this is real, only that I never want her to feel rushed through a single second of this. The sound she makes against my mouth almost undoes me.

My grip tightens on her hands, needing her to feel that every touch, every kiss, every whispered word belongs to this moment and to no one else. Our low moans mix with the sharp slap of skin against skin. Her scent wraps around me, filling my lungs and wrecking me all at once. I watch her unravel in pieces, eyes fluttering shut.

“What did I tell you?” I growl, grinding my hips into her pelvis. “Eyes. On. Me.”

I punctuate every word with a thrust of my hips as her eyes fly open again. When our eyes meet, her fingers tighten around my hand as if she’s trying to anchor herself to something she can trust. I smooth my thumb across her cheek, never letting her look away. She’s close but tries to hold herself together anyway. I see it in the tiny shake of her head before she buries her face against my neck. I gather her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other strokes slowly down her spine. I’m not far behind, control fraying, every nerve lit on fire.

“Let go. I’ve got you,” I whisper, and she does.

The last thread of restraint slips, and I hold her through every second, memorizing the way she says my name and clings to me without a trace of hesitation. I hold on as though letting go of her is no longer something I’m capable of. Her thighs clamp around my waist, pulling me deeper into her as she rides the wave of release, and I go with her into the dark.

We stay like that, panting, wrecked, and tangled together for a few moments, my face buried in her neck. When my breathing finally settles, I brush my fingertips through her braids. The need to take care of her is still every bit as strong as it was moments ago, only softer now, no longer urgent but no less absolute.

I press one more kiss to her cheek before gently slipping out of her. She lets out a soft, contented noise, her hand trailing down my arm as I rise from the bed and head into the bathroom to quickly take care of the condom. I grab a clean cloth and run it under warm water before heading quietly back into the bedroom.

The soft light from the hall casts a low amber glow across the sheets. She watches me as I return, eyes half-lidded as I kneel beside her and clean her up with reverent hands. When I’m done, I toss the cloth aside, slide back into bed, and pull the blanket up around us. She curls into my side without hesitation, her head settling against my chest. I wrap an arm around her automatically, my fingers drifting through her braids while the steady rhythm of her breathing slowly evens out.

I went to the bar tonight wanting one night where no one expected anything from me. I don’t care about that anymore. What matters now is the woman asleep against my chest, trusting me with a softness she almost convinced herself she didn’t deserve. I can’t stand the thought of her leaving this room tomorrow still believing she is anything less than extraordinary. I know, with a certainty that should probably scare me, that I never want to be the reason she doubts herself again.

I press a kiss against the top of her head and listen to the steady rhythm of her breathing until sleep finally pulls me under.

Chapter Seven

Calliope

Warmth surrounds me before I’m fully awake, keeping me suspended at the edge of sleep while my mind searches for the piece that doesn’t fit. My apartment doesn’t smell like sandalwood and clean laundry. The arm resting loosely around my waist doesn’t belong to a dream I’ve forgotten. Yesterday catches up to me all at once, and with it comes every decision that led me here instead of home.

I open my eyes slowly and find the first gray light of dawn filtering through the curtains. The room is still wrapped in the quiet that only exists before the rest of the world decides it’s time to wake up. I’m careful not to move more than I have to, every breath feeling loud enough to disturb it.

His arm is heavier than I realized while I slept, and I turn my head just enough to look at him. His blond hair is a mess, the short strands sticking up in directions I’m certain they weren’t yesterday. Whatever drove him to the sports bar yesterday doesn’t seem to have followed him into his dreams. The lines around his eyes have disappeared, his mouth no longer pulled tight like he’s bracing for whatever comes next, and I find myself absurdly grateful for that. He deserves at least a few hours where nothing is asking him to be stronger than he already is.

Last night was never supposed to become anything more than exactly what it was. We found each other on the worst day and gave each other somewhere safe to set down the weight for a few hours. When the sun came up, we were always going to walk back into our own lives. Whatever exists between those two truths belongs to this room, and maybe that's why it feels so important not to disturb it before I go.

I slide my hand beneath his wrist and lift carefully, moving slowly enough that I can stop the instant he stirs. His fingers flex against my side, and every muscle in my body locks as I watch his face for any sign that I’ve woken him. He lets out a quiet breath, his head turning slightly toward the pillow before his breathing settles into the same slow rhythm as relief loosens the knot in my chest.

“Thank goodness,” I whisper so softly the word barely exists because I don’t know what either of us is supposed to say if he wakes up.

There isn’t an awkward conversation waiting to happen because we already knew tomorrow belonged to our separate lives. I don’t want daylight to turn something gentle into something complicated simply because neither of us left when we were supposed to.

I ease myself from beneath the blanket and wince as the cool air brushes across my skin. My clothes are scattered across the floor, each piece carrying a memory I refuse to linger on. If I let myself replay even one of them, I’ll stop moving, and stopping isn’t an option.

I bend carefully to retrieve my shirt first, pausing when the floorboard beneath my foot gives the faintest creak. My head snaps toward the bed, but he doesn’t move. I let out the breath I’d been holding because leaving quietly is going to require more strategy than I expected.

I gather the rest of my clothes one piece at a time, refusing to rush no matter how badly I want to be dressed before he wakes. It takes a little more patience than I’d like to work my skirt over my hips without letting the fabric swish any louder than necessary. I smile to myself despite everything because if anyone could see me now, they’d probably think I was attempting some elaborate covert operation instead of trying to leave a stranger’s house without being rude enough to wake him.

Stranger doesn’t feel like the right word anymore, even if I couldn’t tell anyone his last name or what he does for a living. What I know instead is smaller than that and matters more. I know he listened when my answers became difficult instead of looking for an easier conversation, and he never once tried to convince me yesterday wasn’t awful. He stayed with me until I felt less lonely.

Maybe that’s all we’re ever meant to know about each other. It’s enough to make me smile as I reach for my purse on the nightstand, my gaze landing on the neat collection of jewelry resting beside the lamp. I scoop everything into my palm before slipping it into the small velvet pouch in my purse.

I slide the strap over my shoulder and glance toward the bed one last time. He’s still asleep, one arm stretched across the empty space where I’d been only minutes ago, completely unaware that morning has already begun for me. Keeping my eyes on him for another heartbeat, I back toward the bedroom door before finally forcing myself to look away. By the time I reach the front door, his house is silent again. The latch clicks softly behind me as I step into the cool dawn, believing I’ve left Houston exactly where it belongs.