Page 95 of Sparks Fly

Her breath. My name on her lips. The feel of her everywhere.

“Addie—” she broke, her voice catching.

That was it.

I came with her.

My body arched into hers, a broken sound falling from my mouth as everything hit at once, sharp and overwhelming. She followed with me, our bodies tightening together, moving through it in the same rhythm, the same breath.

We held each other there, not letting go, riding it out together.

Her mouth found mine, messy and desperate, swallowing every sound as the waves hit again and again, until my body finally started to come down, trembling, still pressed tight against her.

She didn’t pull away.

She stayed right there, forehead against mine, breath uneven, her hand still resting on my hip like she didn’t want to lose me.

“Fuck,” she breathed softly, a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh in it. “Is that what you wanted, baby?”

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers still curled into her shoulders, my body slow to catch up.

“Yes,” I whispered, softer now. “God, yes. Thank you.”

We didn’t move. Her hand stayed on my hip, thumb brushing slow, absent circles like she wasn’t ready to stop touching me. I pressed closer, my leg slipping between hers, fitting into her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

My body felt heavy in the best way. Warm. Loose. Still humming.

Sawyer kissed my temple, then my shoulder, her lips lingering there.

“You okay?” she murmured softly.

I nodded against her. “More than okay.”

Her arm tightened around me just slightly, pulling me closer, and something about that—how easy it felt, how right—made my eyes drift shut.

Sleep came slow and soft. Not all at once.

The warmth of her skin. The quiet way her fingers kept moving along my back until they didn’t. Until everything faded.

* * *

Light filtered in through the window, soft and warm, and for a second I didn’t move. Just stayed there, tucked against her, listening to the quiet of the room and the steady sound of her breathing.

Her hand was still on me. Like she’d fallen asleep that way.

I shifted slightly, enough to look up at her, and she stirred, her eyes opening just a little, sleep still heavy in them.

“Hey,” she murmured.

“Hey.”

Neither of us moved right away.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I have to go back to real life,” I said after a while, my voice quieter now, softer with sleep and something more honest. “It already feels like I’m going to miss you.”

Her fingers started moving again, slow circles along my spine. “We’ll make time,” she said gently.

I lifted my head, studying her. “I want to make sure you’re on my calendar.”