Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“You good?” he asks softly.
“Yes,” I manage. “Don’t stop.”
He moves again, another inch, the sensation overwhelming and perfect all at once. I gasp, fingers digging into the comforter as he continues his slide until he fills me completely. The angle is perfect—intense, deep—and it sends a pulse of pleasure through me that I wasn’t prepared for.
Crosby withdraws slowly, then slides back in with intention, setting a cadence that builds instead of rushes. Each movement knocks the air from my lungs, the pressure inside me blooming until it’s almost too much.
I moan, unable to hold it back, and he answers with a low sound of his own. His hands planted on either side of me as his pace picks up, the room filling with the sounds of skin and breath and quiet, desperate encouragement.
His hands slide forward, one cupping my breast, the other following, his thumbs brushing over sensitive skin until I cry out. The sensation pushes me right to the edge, my body tightening, my hips pressing back against him without thought.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, breath hot at my ear. “Let go.”
My second release hits hard and fast, pleasure cresting and breaking through me in waves. I shudder, barely able to breathe as it washes over me, my body responding to his every movement.
Crosby follows soon after, his grip tightening as his body tenses, a guttural groan leaving his mouth as he finishes, pressed fully against me.
When he stills, he stays there for a moment, breathing heavy, leaning over me like he’s not ready to end contact yet.
Then he pulls back carefully, lifting to watch me with an intensity that makes me suddenly aware of myself again.
His lips brush the top of my head, warm and lingering. “You’re something else,” he murmurs.
I smile, still breathless. “You’re not exactly forgettable yourself.” He pulls me into his body, our breathing slowly evening out. His hand traces lazy lines along my back, anchoring me in the quiet that follows.
I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heart, feeling the aftershocks ripple through me.
This sure changes things.
Reckless? Maybe.
Chosen? Absolutely.
No regrets? That remains to be seen.
CHAPTER 18
Crosby
My house is dark when I slip inside, that muted predawn dark where night hasn’t quite let go and morning hasn’t decided to announce itself.
I ease the door shut behind me, careful with the latch, and stand there for a second in the stillness. My jacket hangs on a stand where I put it yesterday, a pair of Birdie’s running shoes tucked neatly beneath the bench.
I don’t move right away but I listen.
No footsteps. No music bleeding through her door.
Good.
The world is still asleep, and more importantly, so is my sister.
I toe off my shoes and pick them up, carrying them like contraband as I cross the living room. Everything looks the same as when I left, all boxes unpacked and artwork hung. Birdie was a miracle worker helping me with the rest of the house.
My body is tired in that deep, earned way that has nothing to do with training and everything to do with Juno.
Images of last night assault me and I don’t mind. It was perfect. A little reckless perhaps, but on the other hand, I can say it wasn’t a bad decision, and there is no regret.
Sex, yes. More than once. Unapologetically so.
But it was hours of talking and laughing. A freezer raid at one a.m. and sharing a pint of vanilla in her kitchen with mismatched spoons. She sat on the counter, swinging her bare foot against my thigh while she told a story about a documentary shoot gone sideways. I laughed so hard, my ribs hurt.
We didn’t get a lot of sleep, but what we did get was sound and peaceful. It all ended with a soft kiss at her door when I finally left. There was no urgency to it. No attempt to stretch the moment and make it heavier than it needed to be.
Not a promise.
Not a goodbye.
Simply… see you.
We didn’t make plans. No dates, no “tomorrow,” no checking schedules or negotiating windows of time. We stood there for a beat, close enough that I could feel her breathing steady again, then she stepped back and smiled like she wasn’t trying to make it mean anything more than it already did.
It was clear we both understood that naming it too soon would change it and that we were fine with letting it sit—unlabeled, unclaimed.
And that is why it feels so real, and that thought alone fills me with excitement for what our future might hold.
I move through the darkened kitchen carefully, tiptoeing, when a shadow moves. “Oh, you bad boy… sneaking in.”
“Jesus!” I yelp, jerking back so hard I almost drop my shoes.
Birdie’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me like she’s been there all along. “Good morning,” she says sweetly.