He brushed his thumb along my bottom lip, eyes soft. “You’re incredible.”
I laughed a little—half nerves, half disbelief.
I kissed him before he could say anything else, partly to shut him up, mostly because I couldn’t stand another second without the taste of him. His laugh vibrated against my mouth, swallowed by another kiss, and another, until laughter gave way to something breathless and trembling and so full it scared me as his knee pushed my thighs apart.
The city could’ve disappeared outside that window, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
He slid into me with such ease and tenderness as my back arched, and the electricity shooting through made me forget all my worries. The rhythm we created as my hands slid down his back and his mouth found my breasts while pushing and teasing.
Every part of him—his touch, his voice, the rough scrape of his stubble against my skin—was both comfort and combustion. I’d never been kissed like that before, like it wasn’t just about wanting me, but understanding me. As if he saw all the pieces I kept locked up tight and decided none of them needed fixing.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that—minutes, hours, a whole other lifetime packed into one heartbeat. But I knew this: when I finally let go of the last thread of hesitation, the fear that I’d fall too hard, it wasn’t falling at all. It felt like flying.
And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever want to come down.
His name left my lips in a whisper—half prayer, half surrender as his rhythm quickened.
The world was heat and heartbeat and the soft hum of the lights overhead. I knew I should’ve been afraid, but all I felt wasan overwhelming rightness that I hadn’t expected, hadn’t even dared to want.
It was reckless. It was dangerous. It wasus.
And I let go like I never had before.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Drew
The smell of coffee hit before the light did.
For a second, I thought I’d dreamed the whole thing—the drive, the market, her laughter, the way the city glowed on her skin. But the weight of the blanket, the faint hum of traffic outside, and the indentation on the pillow next to me said otherwise.
Seattle sunlight hit hard with its gray, lazy sky.
The twinkle lights over her bed were still glowing, one stubborn bulb flickering every few seconds. She was moving around the apartment, in soft footfalls, the quiet sound of a cupboard door.
I sat up, rubbed my face, and exhaled.
So this was the morning after. No hangover, no regrets. Just the strange, quiet peace that comes from having what you want and realizing you still don’t quite know what to do with it.
Her laugh carried down the hall, and I smiled. There it was again, the sound that never failed to knock something loose in my chest. I swung my legs out of bed, found my jeans, and tugged them on before heading toward the kitchen.
She stood by the counter in one of my shirts—the soft gray one I’d left in my bag, the one she must’ve swiped sometime last night. It hit mid-thigh and looked a hell of a lot better on her than it ever did on me. Her hair was up in a messy knot, her bare feet tucked under her as she poured coffee into two mismatched mugs.
“Morning,” I said, leaning on the doorframe.
She turned, smiling, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe. “Morning yourself,” she said. “You sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.”
Her cheeks colored just enough to make my grin widen. She handed me a mug and lifted hers in mock salute. “To questionable decisions and very good coffee.”
“Dangerous combination,” I said, taking a sip. “Especially when the questionable decision can cook.”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes but was smiling. “You’ve been dying to brag about that salmon.”
“Can you blame me? You made noises, Mel.Noises.”
She choked on her coffee, laughing. “I did not.”
