Page 92 of Safe Place

“You’re right. They’re calling my name.” She stretches, then lets out a low moan. “God, all your tees are so soft.”

That sound nearly undoes me. Then again, everything she does gets to me. She could be standing there wrapped in a parka and I’d still be hard.

My thoughts drift before I can stop them—imagining if this was every night. If she lived here. If the bathroom counter was crowded with her makeup, if her clothes hung next to mine in the closet. If I could wake up to her hair spilling across my pillow and fall asleep every night to the sound of her breathing. If I could have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with her every single day. The thought feels so right it almost slips out, but I swallow it down. Too soon. I don’t want to push her, not when what we have is still new and fragile.

She walks across the room and crawls into bed beside me, and the mattress dips under her weight. The warmth of her skin seeps into mine, and her signature rose-and-honey scent wraps around me. My shirt hangs loose on her, slipping off one shoulder, revealing skin I’ve kissed before but will never stop wanting to kiss again.

Without makeup, she’s devastating. Softer. More herself. I don’t think she knows how beautiful she is like this—how much it undoes me.

Her gaze lingers on me, curious, and then she asks, “What are you thinking?”

So many things. Too many things. How I want her here, permanently. How she makes this penthouse feel less like a polished, empty box and more like a home.

Instead, I brush a damp strand of hair back from her cheek. “That I love seeing you here. Like this. With me. And with our friends.” My voice dips before I can stop it. “You’re the addition to the group I didn’t even know we needed. Poppy too, of course.”

Her lips curve, soft. “Well, thank you for accepting us into your circle. You guys are all amazing.” She leans her head on my shoulder like she belongs there.

“But I’m the most amazing-est. Don’t forget it, babe.” I tip my chin, pressing a kiss into her hair. “And we should be thanking you. For joining us.”

I expect her to roll those pretty eyes or slap my arm, but instead she gives me a smile—small, real, taking my breath away.

I can’t hold back. I kiss her before I lose the nerve, slow at first, savoring the taste of her, the softness of her lips. She tastes like mint and something sweeter—like her. She presses closer, fingers sliding under my shirt, nails skimming over my skin. A shiver bolts down my spine, and suddenly the kiss is deeper, hungrier.

I roll us gently, bracing over her, and she laughs against my mouth before kissing me back harder, her hands fisting in my tee. My pulse is a drum, pounding everywhere at once. She looks up at me with those wide, unguarded eyes, and I can’t believe this girl is mine.

“God, Soph,” I murmur against her neck, unable to stop. The need is sharp, insistent, but so is the love. Both tangled together until I can’t tell one from the other.

She breathlessly whispers my name, and the sound almost unravels me.

I take my time, pressing slow kisses down her jaw, her throat, over the delicate curve of her shoulder. Her skin is warm beneath my lips and she shivers under my touch. She threads her fingers through my hair and tugs gently, pulling me back to her mouth, and it’s enough to undo me all over again.

Her laughter breaks between our kisses, quietly but radiantly, and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. It’s not the polished version of her she shows the world. Not guarded, or careful—just Sophie—open and with me.

I swear I’d give her the world if she asked for it.

Clothes slip away. Every kiss, every touch feels like proof that she’s choosing me, too.

Nothing else exists but her.

TWENTY-SIX

She’s definitely too pretty for you

SOPHIE

“Wow, Sophie, you look so good,” Poppy says, eyes wide as I step into the room in the dress I’m wearing to the gala tonight.

“You think so?” I ask, glancing down at myself, fingers brushing one of the thin straps. “It’s not too much?”

She lets out a breath. “No. You look incredible. You’re really going to stand out, Soph. You were already beautiful, but this? This is something else.”

Micah had another dress delivered to my apartment this morning—this one a white gown, sleek and fitted with delicate straps and a low neckline. It hugs me in all the right places and falls all the way to the floor, barely grazing the tops of my heels when I walk. It’s stunning. My favorite color. The kind of dress you only dream of owning.

He didn’t stop there.

Tucked inside the box was a pair of silver pointed-toe heels, a matching clutch, and a full set of jewelry—necklace, earrings, and bracelet—all shimmering with the most beautiful diamonds I’ve ever seen.

Poppy did my hair and makeup, and when I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. It’s so much better than my clumsy attempt at the hotel last weekend. She even stocked the clutch—lipstick, gloss, eyeliner, and a few cotton swabs—just in case.