Shay:
I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know why. One second, we were laughing, drinking, having a good time. Maybe it was the lingering rush from the bike ride, or the whiskey warming my veins, or maybe—just maybe—it was the slow, torturous circles of Saint’s fingers tracing higher and higher up my thigh.
But it hit me.
I wanted him.
Now.
I turned to him, voice softer than I intended, but laced with certainty. “Can we go home?”
Home.
The word slipped out before I could stop it. But deep down, I knew why. Saint felt like home. He felt safe. Familiar. Right.
Without hesitation, he sprung up, and we were headed for the door. I followed him to the parking garage, my steps a little unsteady in my heels. The night air was crisp, grounding me for just a moment—until my heel c
