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I’m excited for her. And when we get back to her place and I follow her inside, she turns to me. I close the door behind us, and her eyes dance in the dim light, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “I don't usually bring guys home after the second date,” she says in a teasing tone that leaves me wanting something else from her.
My heart kicks against my ribs, eager for a repeat of our last night alone. “What if I want this to be your usual?” I step closer, and our breaths mingle.
“Don’t. Don’t play with me like that,” she whispers, and that’s all it takes.
My lips find hers, gentle at first, testing her response as her arms slip around my shoulders, pulling me in closer. She tastes savory and sweet, uniquely Lila flavored. Her hands skim up my neck, and her fingers comb through my hair.
My hand glides down her back, finding the curve of her waist and pulling her against me. There's an urgency in her kiss, a hunger that I feel in the depths of myself.
“Bedroom,” she says between kisses.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and she gives me a light push before pulling me in for another kiss.
We hurry to her room, undressing along the way. In her bedroom, moonlight spills over us. I taste every inch of her skin with my mouth and commit the flavor and scent of her to memory.
“Please,” she begs, and I can't deny her.
When we’re finally relaxed again, a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing, I hear my phone buzz from the pocket of my slacks still discarded on the floor.
“You should get that.” She sounds sleepy, and I give her a quick kiss before leaving to retrieve my phone.
The message is from Emma. I should ignore it; erase her from my life like a bad memory. But these secrets still linger between us..
Have you decided? I know she’s asking about the club. She sounds impatient, which isn’t a surprise.
I stare at the screen, Lila’s steady breathing warning me she’s drifting off to sleep. I’m done. No more secrets.
Lila stirs, her hand moving between the sheets, searching for me. “Everything okay?”
“Better than okay,” I say, making my way to the edge of her bed. Her hands trail up my bare back, warm and welcoming.
The morning light filters in through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on Lila’s face. She's radiant, eyes shimmering with a happiness I haven't seen in too long as she sits up, cross-legged and naked on her bed.
“She can come home,” she says, her voice dancing with excitement.
“Grace?” I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.
Lila nods. “The doctors say she's stable.”
It’s great news—really, it is. But my heart sinks a little. Our solitude, this makeshift reality we've been living in, it's about to fall apart.
I manage a smile, because of her joy, and my genuine delight for Grace’s recovery.
“Let’s get everything ready then,” I say with a stretch before slipping out of bed and dressing with a heavy heart.
We spend the morning preparing and throwing happy glances and smiles at one another. Around noon, Alex shows up to help.
I catch him, hobbling on his crutches, trying to lift more than he should.
“Easy there, champ,” I say, taking a heavy box from his grip.
He glares at me in response, and I know I haven’t won him over yet. “Thanks.” The word is as sharp as the jab of a knife.
In the kitchen, Lila hums as she organizes a meal plan following the rules the doctor outlined. Her black hair falls over her shoulder as she leans forward on both elbows to scribble something on paper.
“Need any help?” I ask, admiring the curves of her body.
She looks up and smiles, a small smile just for me. “Maybe,” she says in a voice that sends my pulse pounding.
