By the time I wiped my hands, he was already bouncing over the couch and settling in beside me again.
Danny grinned—and then his hands were on my neck, his mouth back on mine. I dropped the napkin and kissed him back, letting him set the pace. My hands slid over his thighs to his hips, my mouth opening as the kiss shifted from asking to demanding.
“Come here,” he said against my lips.
He leaned back into the cushions, and I followed, fitting myself between his legs, chasing his mouth like I didn’t know how to stop.
“Hey,” he said softly, breaking away. His forehead stayed pressed to mine, just enough to keep me from diving back in.
“Yeah?”
“I feel like I need to tell you something.”
The smile was gone now, and that alone made my stomach knot.
“What is it?”
“I want to keep kissing you—for hours, if I can,” he said, fast and honest. “But…” He shrugged.
“What?”
“I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.”
Oh.
Oh.
My heart sank.
“I get it if you want me to fuck off now,” he rushed on. “I know you don’t do casual. But fuck, I really hope you don’t, because I like you, Jessie. And I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t expecting you. I just—” He looked up at me, helpless. “I want to drink it all up.”
I stayed there, breathing over him, trying to think. Of course he was leaving. I’d known that—guests always leave. I’d just thought we had more time.
And I wanted this. Him.
Images flashed through my mind—him laughing outside the restaurant, the way my neck always strained when he passed, the drop in my stomach every time I almost got caught staring.
He liked me.
That could be enough.
“I don’t want you to fuck off,” I said. “Stay.”
His lips curved. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Let’s have today.”
He was already nodding when I closed the space between us again.
The kiss shed its patience almost immediately. Danny’s hands slid from my neck to my shoulders, my waist, searching like he needed something to hold on to. His lips parted, tongue asking for more, and I gave it to him without thinking.
And I wanted everything. To take him in. The way he moved under me, the heat of his skin, the rough edge of his breath when it slipped out.
Our bodies pressed closer, heavier. When the sound he made shifted—rougher, less controlled—my thoughts scattered completely. It wasn’t just his undeniably masculine scent or the sharp angles of him fitting against me.
It was his hard cock, pressing into my stomach.
Pleasure shot through me.
