Page 80 of I Saw You First

She takes a turn in the bathroom, and I make us a little nest—extra pillows, the plaid blanket. I pour her a second cup of coffee. Then I sit on the cloud couch—I’ll never be able to call it anything else—in only my boxers and wait.

She walks into the living room and stops abruptly, her eyes soft, her smile widening. I know how she feels. Even though I’ve explored every inch of that pale, dewy skin, the sight of her here, sexed up and softened, her hair wild and wispy—makes my heart stutter.

“Come back,” I say.

Her eyes flash as she makes her way to the cloud couch.

“Come here. Closer.” I hold out my arm, and she settles against me. I tuck the blanket around her as she lays a cold hand across my stomach. I startle at the icy sensation.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

I tighten my hold on her, relishing the feeling of her soft, smooth skin against mine. “Do you have plans today? I should’ve asked.”

“Yes,” she says.

No. Something in my chest tightens. I want her to stay, and I need her to understand that it’s not only because I want to give her more orgasms but because I crave her company. That she’s quickly becoming my favorite companion—companion? What the hell? Am I 90? My cheeks heat, and I’m glad she can’t see it.

I need her to stay. “You do?” I ask. “Have plans?”

“Yes. This.”

I blow out a breath. Yes. This.

“Want to watch a movie?”

“This would require you to get up off this couch and put a movie in?”

“Yes.” I plant a kiss on the top of her head. Shit. Is that too much of a boyfriend move? Am I her boyfriend? I’m not sure if we need to discuss this or if we’ve already moved past it. Or maybe she doesn’t do labels. “The VCR is across the room.”

“Hmm.” She grips my side, tugging me closer.

Eventually, I pry her arms loose and walk over to the TV. We watch The Sandlot, one of the greatest movies of all time—baseball or otherwise. Abbey hasn’t seen it and I love how she smiles and groans and laughs.

“I think I like Squints the best,” she says.

“You got a thing for glasses?”

She reaches for mine and sets them on the coffee table. Then she kisses me as Wendy Peffercorn dives into the pool to save Squints.

Abbey falls asleep during the end credits, and I follow, tangled with her on the cloud couch. When I wake, I’ve got a crick in my neck. She’s curled herself around me, straddling my leg. One of hers is tucked against my stirring cock, her center heated and damp against the bare skin of my thigh. I huff out a breath and shift to relieve some of the pressure, but she makes a sound that’s half whimper, half moan, and I freeze. Then she starts to move.

Oh, she—she’s rubbing herself against my thigh.

She moans again and then heaves herself up to catch my mouth with hers. She breaks away long enough to say, “Make me come,” against my lips and it’s my undoing, those words, that breathy whisper, this woman. “Please, Wil.”

I reach a hand down between her legs, spread her apart. “You’re so wet,” I murmur, then I flip her over so I can slide my body down, kissing and sucking her breast, her stomach, her thigh, and finally—yes, there—the tang of her sharp on my tongue. Her wetness soaks the scruff of my day-old beard. I hum into her, and she grasps a fistful of my hair.

Yes. I’ll make her come. Today, tonight, tomorrow. For as long as she’ll let me.

TWENTY-TWO

“WONDERWALL” BY OASIS, 1995

ABBEY

I spend all of New Year’s Day at Wil’s. He makes grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and a frozen pizza for dinner, although by then, I’m so exhausted, I can only eat one slice, and even that makes my stomach feel queasy.

All day, I’ve been figuratively pinching myself to make sure this isn’t a dream. The gala, the hot kisses backstage, the sex. So much sex. So many orgasms. And not that I want to think about Tucker, but I’m fairly certain that in the hours I’ve spent at Wil’s apartment, I came more times than I did with Tucker the entire time we were together.