Page 79 of Under Her

“You could be wrong.”

“Am I?”

Her lips press together, and I know she’s not going to answer. Stubborn little thing that she is. So, I bring her mouth down to mine, stopping just short of a kiss.

“I care about you,” I whisper against her lips.

Her breathing hitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I care about you a fuck of a lot. And I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

I erase the distance between our mouths, and I kiss her for the hundredth time tonight, but somehow, each time feels like the first. But this kiss isn’t about sex. It’s about showing her what she means to me.

And I think I’m only now just starting to realize the actual extent and depth of my feelings for her.

I’m fucking crazy about her.

I break from her lips, and both of us are panting. Her forehead presses down to mine, her hand resting against my cheek.

“It’s the same for me, too, Wilder,” she whispers. “Everything you said…I feel the same.”

A pressure comes down on my chest, but it’s a good kind of pressure. The kind of pressure that I want to feel time and time again.

Morgan moves her head to my shoulder and hooks her leg over mine. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight to me.

And we fall asleep exactly like this.

Wrapped up in each other. Like we always should have been.

It’s Friday evening, and we’ve just landed back in O’Hare after close to a day of traveling.

FYI, best frigging flight I’ve ever taken. Screw joining the Mile High Club. Getting Morgan off with my hand under the blanket we were sharing while people were sleeping around us and then watching her have to bite her lip to keep quiet as she came, her eyes on mine—hottest thing ever.

I can’t get enough of her. I’m addicted.

When I was a kid, I went through this phase of being addicted to waffles. I had to eat them all the time—for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’d eat them with all kinds of different toppings and side orders. But it was the waffle I wanted.

Drove my mom crazy.

Eventually, the addiction waned.

But I still have waffles all the time. Even now. Best food ever.

Morgan is my new waffle. I want her all day, every day, in any way I can have her. And I don’t ever see that ending.

We’ve just gotten our luggage. We have to use a cart, as, remember, Morgan doesn’t travel light.

We exit the airport, head over to the taxi stand, and grab a cab.

The driver loads our luggage in the trunk, and Morgan and I climb into the back of the car.

Then, I realize that this is it. The trip is over. We’ll go back to our respective apartments.

And I don’t know where we stand.

We haven’t talked about what this means, what’s going on between us.

We were too busy screwing each other’s brains out in the hotel and making out on the plane ride home to talk about the status of our relationship.