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Honestly, it fit right in with my idea of what kind of content she would consume. Nothing about her implied she’d be the kind to love true crime or action. She was all things soft and girly. So was her music. And so, of course, were her movie preferences.

“I know it’s cheesy,” she said as the townspeople all seemed to be interested in or participating in a pumpkin pie contest, “and the acting is… not the best. But I can’t get enough of these. The fall onesandthe Christmas ones.”

“Puts you in the mood for the holidays,” I said. “I suddenly had a craving for pumpkin pie.”

“And apple cider donuts,” she said, giving me a smile. “Do you bake too?” she asked.

“Not as much. I like cooking better. More chances to explore. Baking is more of a science than an art. A lot of the parts have to be just right. Cooking gives you more room to play around.”

“I love baking,” she said. “If you have the ingredients, I can totally bake a pumpkin pie or two tomorrow,” she said, eyes bright. Like she was excited at the possibility.

“If I don’t, I’ll get ‘em,” I told her.

We had to stop talking then.

Because the clueless male hero suddenly realized he couldn’t let the heroine go back to the big city, got his head out of his ass, and made a move.

Everleigh was lapping that shit up.

But by the time the credits rolled and the opening ones started on another movie, she was drifting off to sleep.

As I sat there, I couldn’t help but hope that her heating issue couldn’t be fixed in one day. That she would share my bed another night or two. Even if I knew that was a slippery fucking slope.

And a couple hours later, when the heat seemed to lower again—likely a trick by Slash to appease the women while they were awake, but drop cool enough for comfortable sleep all night—I could feel her inching closer to me.

Until, eventually, she was plastered to my side.

And that’s exactly how I should have left it.

But I lifted my arm, inviting her closer.

It wasn’t long until she was moving up over my chest, seeking my warmth. First her head. Then arm. Then, yep, her leg hooking over my hips.

Desire, fierce and long-repressed, blazed through me, making me hyper-aware of every inch of her. The way her hair brushed over my arm and chest. The swell of her breast against me. The softness of the inside of her thigh. The heat between.

I was rock-fucking-hard in minutes with my teeth gritted and my hands fisted, trying to think and breathe through it, to try to move past it.

It was an impossible feat.

Even when sleep claimed me, it seemed the desire stayed with me, because when I felt Everleigh shifting around as she strained toward wakefulness in the morning, I could still feel the strain of my cock.

Fuck, I thought to myself as she shifted even more, moving completely over me, arms and legs on either side.

The second she was awake, there’d be no way for her not to notice how hard I was.

I should move.

Whip to my side, knocking her back, like I was just turning in my sleep.

But even as I decided to do that, she was shifting. A little lower this time.

And my cock was pressing against the juncture of her thighs.

The movement immediately stopped.

She had to be awake.

And she had to be feeling every thick inch of me against her.

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