Page 33 of Sawyer

“The opposite of ladylike. The opposite of good.”

How could this be anything other than good?

How can you be anything other than perfect, just as you are?

“Fuck good,” I manage. “Good is boring. You’re better. So much better than that.”

She rolls her hips in time to mine, creating exactly the kind of friction I need. “Can we pretend like tonight’s gonna last forever?”

Something about her voice makes my heart twist. There’s tenderness in the question. Vulnerability. Like thinking about tomorrow hurts her.

I get that.

“Just as long as you don’t expect me to last forever.” I lean in to nip at her neck. “You feel too fuckin’ perfect.”

She laughs, burying her face inmyneck. “Go, Sawyer.”

I do. I fuck her every way I can think of. First I have her crying out against the windows. Then we’re on the floor. On the couch. She’s sitting on my dick while I’m sitting in a chair, her tits in my hands.

I have no idea how I last that long. The condom, maybe? Whatever the case, by the time I come I feel like I’ve pulled every muscle in my body. The release is brutal in its intensity, brutal and blinding, and I find myself smiling when Ava, who’s still on my lap, plucks the cigarette from behind my ear.

“You might need this more than I do.”

I can’t catch my breath. Pinching her nipple, I smile. “Forgot. About that.”

“You gotta have a balcony, right?” She glances around.

I nod. “Off the bedroom. Chilly out, though. Lemme grab us some robes.”

Ava pauses, her green eyes searching my face. “You’re—well, you’re not sweet.”

“Thanks?” I laugh.

She shakes her head. “I don’t like sweet. Sweet is fake. What I’m trying to say is, you’re really thoughtful. You’re genuinely, deeply kind.”

“You’re genuinely, deeply good at compliments.” I press a kiss to her mouth. “I like that.”

I like you.

I help Ava into one of the hotel’s plush terry-cloth robes. I put one on too, and then I rummage around the suite until I find a box of matches.

The view from the balcony is stunning. Sliding the door closed behind us, I fall into the metal chair that’s tucked into the corner and pull Ava onto my lap.

“Gimme that.” I reach for the cigarette in her hand, but she shakes her head. Instead, she carefully places it between my lips, her thumb trailing through my scruff when she pulls away.

My dick twitches. Jesus, at this rate, I’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow. How many times can I fuck this girl before my legs give out?

I light the cigarette and take a deep, and deeply satisfied, inhale. Wyatt’s the smoker in our family, but I’ll occasionally bum a Marlboro or two when I’m especially tired or stressed.

“Fuck, that’s good.” Holding the cigarette between my first two fingers, I offer it to Ava.

She takes it, looking like a golden-age Hollywood siren when she takes a slow, unhurried drag. The cherry burns a bright shade of crimson, the earthy smell of tobacco filling the air.

“Really good,” she says, passing it back to me. “Can’t remember the last time I smoked.”

Holding the cigarette between my thumb and forefinger, I bring it to my lips. “When was the last time you came that hard?”

Grinning, she curls an arm around my neck and tucks her fingers into my robe, running her fingertips over my collarbone. “Can’t remember that either.”

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