Page 144 of While You Were Trending

There’s a moment of silence outside my door.

Then— “Okay. Night, Ginny. Night, Flow.”

Flow woofs once.

Good girl.

“Night,” I call.

I hold my breath and count to twenty, waiting to see if anyone else comes to check on me.

I know Heath and Declan were the last two cleaning up after the cookout and all of my friends are in the house.

The soft hum of a sewing machine coming from above tells me Mabel’s in the attic, which is her secondary workspace for the custom commissions she gets for her costume-making business.

Samantha and Olivia’s door clicks shut again, and when I don’t hear any footsteps, I assume they’re in for the night.

Dori sleeps like the dead when she’s tired—she slept through Pip setting off a smoke alarm not long after she got here—and she’s been working so hard that I expect we won’t see or hear from her until at least noon tomorrow.

And Pip’s room is too far away for me to hear her or vice versa.

“Embarrassed?” Declan murmurs. He’s managed to find solid ground to support himself so he’s not squishing me, but our bodies are still aligned, his hard-on as hard and on as ever.

“No, but this is forme, not them,” I whisper back.

I stroke his face, then lift my head to press a kiss to his lips.

He angles his head and kisses me back, soft and gentle, but I don’t want soft and gentle.

“Harder,” I say against his mouth.

He instantly deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue over my lips and demanding entrance, thrusting his fingers in my hair and gripping it with an unrelenting strength, his hips flexing into mine.

I fumble for his hand and pull it down to my leg, then slide it up under my shirt—his shirt—until I’m shoving his hand into the back of my panties, holding his palm against my ass.

He groans softly into my mouth and kisses me harder and faster and wetter, his fingers spread across my butt, thumb rubbing a slow circle near my crack.

“More,” I pant.

“Is that a jar of pickles?” he asks back, and I’m suddenly snort-laughing again.

“Where?”

“Under my hand. Can’t you feel that?”

I wiggle my ass.

His eyes cross.

And—

Dammit.

He’s right.

Kind of.

That’s definitely a jar under my upper thigh.