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“It’s comfy,” I reply, burying my face again in his neck so he won’t see my cheeks get pink from embarrassment.
“Is it?” He squeezes me to him.
“It is,” I mumble as he starts moving to the couch and sitting down with me still attached to him.
“Did you eat?”
I sit up in his lap. “What did you have in mind?” I wiggle my eyebrows.
He shakes his head, and I can’t stop the smile from filling my face, even if I wanted to. “I meant food. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I did have snacks on the plane.”
“When do you leave?” I ask him as I put my hands on his pecs.
“Tomorrow morning at ten. Figured I’d get you off to work and then take off.”
“So I get you the whole night?” I try not to make it seem like I’m too happy.
“You get me the whole night and some of the morning,” he confirms, “but I’m good to just chill here while you work.” God, this man. This fucking man. “Why don’t you finish your work while I order food?”
“I still can’t believe you got on a plane.” I shake my head. “How did you get a flight so fast?”
“Private,” he replies, and I gawk at him.
“You chartered a private plane to come see me?” The thought alone is unthinkable.
“What else was I supposed to do? You weren’t speaking to me.” His hands rub up and down my sides. “And my parents sort of told me I needed to tell you how I felt.”
“Your parents?” My voice comes out in a shriek. “You told your parents?”
“Not really. I told them I met a girl in Chicago,” he tells his story, “then my mother was like ‘Ryleigh lives in Chicago’ and, well, the rest is history.”
“This could be very, very bad—” I start to say, but he shuts me up by kissing me. I suddenly forget what I was going to say and instead just go with the kiss. He lets me go after that so I can finish up my work. We eat way too fast, and when he steps into the shower, I’m right behind him, but not for long. I drop to my knees, taking him down my throat, where he then returns the favor. We don’t even make it to the bed. He fucks me on my counter, then cleans me up. When we fall into bed, he’s pulling me to him, and for the first time in three nights, I don’t go to bed with a heavy heart. I don’t go to bed fighting off tears. I don’t go to bed wishing he was here because he is.
The next day, he wakes me up by sliding into me while he whispers, “Good morning, gorgeous.” I don’t even open my eyes. I just hitch my legs over his hips and go with it. It’s fast, it’s hard, and it’s fucking perfect.
“So when I text you later, you’ll try to answer me?” he asks, standing beside the car that came to pick us up this morning and will be dropping him off at the airport.
“Yes,” I assure him, “or at least I will get back to you.”
“I’ll take it. Tomorrow, we will hash out our schedules and see what we can do.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I tell him, getting up on my tippy-toes to kiss him. “Text me when you get in so I know you’re okay.”
“See,” he says, kissing my lips softly, “I knew you could do it.”
“Goodbye.” I slap his shoulder before walking away from him. Looking over my shoulder and waving at him, I smile like a fucking fool.
I go through security to go up to my office, and my phone rings as soon as I take off my jacket. I’m expecting it to be him, but it’s my mother. “Good morning, Mother.” I put the phone to my ear.
“She lives,” my mother chides, and I laugh.
“She’s alive and well,” I confirm.
“I haven’t spoken to you in a month,” she exaggerates.
“It’s been more like two weeks,” I remind her.
“Two weeks, a month, it still feels like forever.”
