Rae's POV
The living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the TV screen and the string lights Killian had strung across the ceiling weeks ago.
The movie I'd chosen-a slow-burn romance with just enough tension and longing to make the air feel teasing- was playing, but neither of us was really watching anymore.
I was curled against Killian's side on the couch, legs draped over his lap, his arm around my shoulders, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare arm.
His oversized T-shirt I'd stolen hung loose on me, the hem riding up my thighs every time I shifted. I could feel the heat of his body, the steady thump of his heart under my cheek, the way his fingers kept drifting lower-brushing the edge of my shorts, then retreating, then brushing again.
I was already aching.
I shifted
