Date = 9 November
Place = San Francisco (Damion’s house)
POV - Damion
“So,” she says, hopping up onto the counter like she owns the place, “what are we making?”
The scent of my soap drifts up as she moves — clean, light, familiar — and it hits me low in the gut. I f*****g love the idea of her wrapped in my smell. I love it even more that she’s wrapped in my shirt, sleeves too long, hem brushing bare thighs.
I purposely didn’t buy shirts for this exact reason.
I step between her legs and brace my hands on either side of her hips, boxing her in. The counter digs into my thighs as I lean closer until we’re eye to eye. Her gaze is dark, buzzing with curiosity and caution, like she’s standing on unfamiliar ground and knows it. There’s a hesitation in the way she holds herself — subtle, bu
