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“But I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”

“And you still are.”

Chapter Seventeen

Enzo

I know I owe Tilly for this week. I’ve been snappy and slept most of the past seven days while an emotional rollercoaster worked through my mind, and having her next to me every night helped more than I expected. Yet how she calmly handles me makes me think there are things I don’t know about her either. Her need to make everything okay all the time is… agitating.

Sometimes, things need to be fucked up to get better.

But all good things must end. Her dad and stepmom return tomorrow from their trip, and we’ll be apart for the longest stretch in a week. Not counting how much I slept, of course. I know I’m being dramatic, more than I like to be. Of course, she’ll come back after they return, but I’m sure she’ll need to spend a couple of nights at her dad’s.

How the hell can we manage a relationship if she goes to San Diego?

I need to stop stressing myself out about the future and things out of my control and savor the present. Tilly’s here, sitting across from me at the table, and I owe her the best version of myself, if I can find it.

“Want to watch a movie after dinner?” I ask, lifting my wineglass, filled with fucking non-alcoholic wine as a temporary measure she suggested. At least I’m finally trying our alcohol-free variants.

Tilly shakes her head. “No,” she calmly answers. Though she has that unmissable look in her eye. She’s thinking the same thing I am. A hunger we haven’t satisfied in days.

“You want to go upstairs?”

I’ve always been one to cut through the bullshit.

She bites her bottom lip to hold back a smirk, her fingers stroking the stem of her glass. “Are you ready for that?” she asks, avoiding my eyes now like she’s bracing. I have to earn her trust back fully.

I’ve been too tired during the past week for sex, which truly says something about how sleep-deprived I was. For now, I’ll take her every chance I can.

A blink later, we’re in my bed.

I’m on top of her.

Still fully clothed, but lip-locked.

My fingers slide up her shirt. Her fingers tug at my waistband. I sit up and pull my shirt over my head. She meets my eyes and runs her hands over my abs. They pause on my pecs, and I cover her hands with mine. Her skin is soft, like rose petals. I grip her wrists and lift her hands from my chest to press her arms into the mattress beside her head. Keeping my hands on her arms, I lean down and kiss her again. We always rush to get naked, and I want this to feel like a celebration.

To sobriety.

She moans into my mouth, and she presses her tongue against my lips. I let her initiate and tangle my fingers in her wavy hair. She always leaves it down, and nothing’s more beautiful than Tilly on top of me with her hair cascading over her shoulders. But that’s for another time.

I’m staying in control for now.

“E,” she complains out of impatience.

“Shh. Just enjoy,” I whisper.

We’ve had sex at least a dozen times, but I’ve never truly savored every moment with her. I was wired, too focused on what was coming, and plotting to keep her under my control. I should have stayed in the now.

I slip my fingers under her shirt, rolling it up to her chest and over the soft mounds. She almost never wears a bra—a fact I love about her. I dip my head and trail kisses over her collarbone, her dainty heart tattoo, and lower to the swells of her chest. It’s her turn to tangle her fingers in my hair, and my bun is coming loose. Her skin tastes like citrus from her favorite body wash and lotion. I draw out brushing my tongue over her nipples until her back is arched, and her body begs for me to give them attention. Her nipples are taut, and she reacts the most when I barely touch them.

“E,” she moans again. I graze my fingertips ever so lightly over the pebbled points and give one a pinch. She gasps harshly, but her fingers find my waistband again. I beat her to her waistband, though. She releases my waistband as I pull her shorts and thong right off her toned legs. I think she wears these cute thongs to look sexy for me, but I want what’s under them more than anything lacy.

“Always so ready for me,” I mumble, brushing my fingers through her warmth.

“Like you’re not hard,” she teases.

“Mm, it can wait.”