“Yeah,” I grinned. “Figured you’d be hungry.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not tonight. My stomach’s been off.”
That hit me. Rayna turning down food? Not her. Her appetite rivaled mine, and I never minded.
We sat, the quiet stretching too long. Then her phone rang—her dad. I couldn’t hear him, but her answers told the story. No, I’m still home. Yeah, all week. No, I’m resting—I promise.
I waited until she hung up. “You been off all week?”
Her eyes flicked to mine, guilty. “Stomach flu. Knocked me out.”
Flu. A week? Didn’t add up. I’ve seen a hundred kids puke and bounce back in two days. But I swallowed the logic and stayed still.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
She shrugged. “I don’t like being sick. I hide. Been that way since I was little. I know I should’ve told you.” A wan smile, shaky at the edges.
I let it go, but something in my chest pulled tight. She was hurting and keeping me on the porch of it.
Then she surged forward, kissing me like she wanted to burn the fear out of herself. Her mouth hot, desperate, and her teeth caught my lip.
I pulled her into my lap, my hands sliding under her tank, palms hungry for skin. She straddled me, rolling her hips until I groaned into her mouth.
“Rayna—”
“Don’t talk,” she whispered, yanking my shirt over my head. “Just—” Her voice cracked. “Just show me.”
I did.
Her tank hit the floor. My hands cupped her breasts, thumbs flicking until she arched back with a sound that went through me. I sucked one into my mouth, firm, and she gasped, riding me in nothing but panties.
“You drive me crazy,” I muttered against her skin.
“Good.” She tugged my belt loose, shoved my pants down enough to free me. Then she pushed her panties aside—slick, ready—and took me in one fierce motion.
We both groaned, raw. She gripped me so tight I almost lost it right there.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
Her smile was wicked, cracked at the edges. “Yeah. Fuck.”
She rode me hard, no pause, sweat beading along her collarbone. I held her hips, met every drop. She kissed me sloppy, bit my lip, and moaned into my mouth.
It was filthy—the slap of skin, the couch complaining—but it was more than that. Every sound out of her throat was a confession. Every time she whispered my name like a prayer, something permanent was set inside me.
I flipped her onto her back, drove into her, her legs locking around me. She clawed my shoulders, dragged me deeper.
“Yes—God, yes—don’t stop?—”
“I’m not stopping.” My voice broke, my forehead pressed to hers. “I’m not stopping, Rayna.”
She came with a cry that shook me down, her bodypulling me under. I followed, spilling into her with a groan, holding her like I could keep us both from breaking.
—
Silence after is its own weather. The room smelled like sex and laundry soap and the basil from the Thai bag we didn’t touch. Rayna lay against me, cheek on my chest, breath evening out. My heart knocked a new count. It felt like now.
I smoothed a palm over her back. Her skin ran warm then cooled, gooseflesh rising where my fingers traced. She shivered and tucked closer.
