Page 41

Minutes, or even hours later, Tilly lies back against the pillows. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and I prop myself on my elbow to look over her body, glistening faintly with her sweat. Her thighs are soaked from both of our releases, and this is exactly how I want this girl—in my bed covered in my cum.

“I have to do laundry more often because of you,” I tease her.

She smiles and covers her face with her hand. “Worth it.”

“Definitely,” I agree.

“I need water.”

“Okay.” I lean over and press my lips to hers. “But I still expect a round three before we call it,” I add.

“Oh, God. My pussy’s tired,” she laughs.

“So’s my dick,” I reply, laughing with her.

We walk down the stairs, past her discarded clothes. “Sorry about your railing,” she says.

I drape my arm over her shoulders. “No regrets, but I might need more home insurance if this is going to be a regular thing.”

“Oh, yeah, and your lamp. I feel like we’re Mr. and Mrs. Smith-ing your house.”

I just shrug.

There are worse things.

Like a life without her in it.

Chapter Twelve

Tilly

Unprotected sex four… five… six times already? It hasn’t even been a week since the first time, and I can’t remember how many times we’ve done it. At least once in his living room, once in the stairway, and, of course, several times in his bed. A quickie this morning.

And I can’t stop.

Being in Enzo’s bed is like air. It’s a need, no matter how reckless it is for me. He’s settled—solid career, a homeowner, money to spend—but I’m not there yet. So, why do I keep coming back for more?

I adjust my wired earbuds and slow my pace as I jog down a hill. The area near my dad’s house isn’t runner-friendly with only a two-lane highway with no sidewalks, but I’ll make it work, damn it. How else am I supposed to clear my mind?

I don’t know how long it took my mom to get pregnant, but I know they weren’t trying. Obviously. My dad is the last person who should be a parent; I have the emotional and mental scars to prove it.

I focus on my breathing. I can run farther if I pace myself, but so far, my runs in Napa have been unsuccessful. Mostly because of the hills. Running in Enzo’s neighborhood would be most similar to my usual flat running conditions. It could mean more time at Enzo’s too. After waking up next to him and getting dicked down by seven this morning, I’m open to that.

And I’m probably overreacting to all this unprotected sex stuff. Realistically, it takes years for people to conceive. Not just a month or two. Enzo must know that too, which is why he doesn’t care if he finishes inside me. Or he could be snipped. Has he ever mentioned wanting kids?

Ugh, my damn brain.

There’s also a chance my body just doesn’t work, and it won’t matter. Some women have issues. Not that I’m wishing that upon myself, but from what I know about conception, the timing has to work perfectly, then it has to stick. It’s actually amazing how human reproduction works, and there’s no way it’s truly that easy.

Well, that and knowing I’m halfway through my cycle. We missed the window for this month, which I realized after our first time, and next month, I’ll just avoid Enzo for the week. He’s not the type of guy you’d ask to wear a condom or pull out, apparently. Even if he did, it would muffle the sensation of his piercings, and fuck, that’s the best part. And my ex never gave me the sensations like Enzo does.

I glance at my smartwatch to check the time. It counts my steps, too, which is helpful for these runs when I don’t even know how long I’ve been running.

Noon.

Shit, I have to get back.

Enzo said he’s taking the afternoon off, and Appa and Robby are coming to the vineyard to swim in Robby’s parents’ pool. Enzo invited me over to hang out with them.