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“I was beginning to think you’d fallen asleep putting them to bed.”

I grin as I cross the terrace. “Babs was negotiating visitation rights for Sprout after bedtime.”

Emma laughs into her mug before looking over at me. “Who won?”

“I agreed he gets extra ear scratches tomorrow.”

“That seems fair.”

I stop beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost brush, and rest my forearms against the railing.

“I had a really good day,” she says, turning the mug between her hands.

“I could tell.”

She drops her gaze into the coffee before meeting my eyes again. “I haven’t laughed that much in a long time.”

She looks back toward the park, and I watch her reflection in the terrace glass instead.

The city fades into scattered lights behind us, and the space between us grows harder to ignore, pulling tighter with every breath, pulling tighter with every breath until I can’t tell whether I’m waiting for her or she’s waiting for me.

Our shoulders brush as we shift against the railing, and neither of us moves away. I don’t know who closes the last inch between us because it feels like we both do, our faces drawing closer until every thought disappears beneath the anticipation hanging between us.

Her lips meet mine before either of us can second-guess it.

They’re soft, parted like she was about to say my name, and I catch her surprise before the kiss deepens into warmth that steals whatever restraint I had left.

Her hand settles against my hip, fingers curling into the denim of my jeans as she kisses me the same way she does everything else, with enough fire to make my pulse kick harder, yet she still gives me room to meet her halfway.

When her tongue brushes my lower lip in a teasing invitation, I answer without thinking, and a laugh slips between us before the kiss finds us again, leaving us breathless with the city stretching out beyond the terrace like it’s been waiting for this right alongside us.

Her hand falls from my hip beneath my shirt, her palm gliding over my skin until goosebumps chase the path of her fingers up my back.

The shiver that runs through me earns a satisfied grin against my mouth, and I can’t tell whether she’s trying to strip me bare or learn every scar and hard-earned inch of me by touch alone because her hands grow bolder with every pass.

Mine rest around her ribs before sliding higher along her sides, my fingertips catching beneath the hem of her sweater as warmth greets my hands. Every inch of her makes me want another.

We stagger backward together until my shoulder bumps the French doors, and Emma laughs into the side of my neck as the collision pulls another grin out of me.

I use the opening to ease her against the glass, kissing along her jaw, and my hands spread across her sides, and she answers by brushing her lips against my ear.

“Inside.”

The word barely leaves her mouth before we’re moving. We make it as far as the living room before patience disappears, and her hands dive for my belt.

I catch her wrists and lift them above her head against the wall for half a heartbeat, long enough to watch heat flash across her face as her smile widens. She shoves back with enough determination to make me laugh, so I release her, and she answers by dragging my sweater over my head.

Her nails rake across my ribs on the way, leaving my hair standing in every direction from the static. She laughs, catches the ends between her fingers and gives them an amused tug, then kisses me again with enough hunger to erase the joke.

She lets her own shirt fall away, revealing a soft gray bra, plain and understated against the ease with which she undresses. Any hint of hesitation disappears when she catches my hand and presses it beneath the band, daring me without saying a word.

I accept, and the instant my hand closes over her she arches into my touch with a moan louder than I expect, pressing closer as though she’s trying to erase every inch of space between us.

I lose myself in her, her fingers work the button of my jeans until it pops free before dragging the zipper down with a rough, impatient pull. Her knuckles brush the outline already straining against my boxers, and the gasp that escapes her carries equal parts delight and disbelief.

She shoves my jeans and boxers down together without caring when they catch around my ankles. Her palm feels cool against me before it warms, her fingers wrapping around my cock as her thumb circles beneath the head.

Gratitude gets the better of me, and I bite lightly into her shoulder and slide my hand behind her, finding the waistband of her leggings.