I swear the apartment smelled like him tonight, the same cedarwood cologne, the same faint trace of the gym bag he never unpacks right away.
That’s why I didn’t question anything when I slipped into the bedroom at 1:37 a.m. and found him under the sheets, not wearing a shirt, one arm thrown over his eyes like he had been expecting me.
The room just had enough glow to see the rise and fall of his chest, the familiar V dipping into his boxer briefs, and his bulge already visible in the cotton. My mouth watered instantly.
I took off my tank top and shorts in one impatient move and crawled onto the bed, straddling his hips before he could even say hello.
“Jesus, you’re already rock-hard,” I whispered, rocking forward so my bare p***y dragged along the length of him through the fabric. He
