Page 32 of My Only

Ayla’s hand moved to my chest, her fingertips brushing over my skin. “And what exactly did we do in this dream?”

I grinned, sliding my arm around her waist. My palm smoothed over her round ass, my grip tightening as I pulled her closer.

“I pulled you close, just like this.”

She giggled, lifting her leg to drape over my hip. “Mm-hmm…?”

I ran my fingers along the smooth brown curve of her calf.

“Then I kissed you…” I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers. “Like this.”

Ayla moaned against me, the sound shooting straight through me, making my dick twitch in response.

She parted her lips, her breath mingling with mine. “What else?”

I groaned, rolling her beneath me, her thighs parting instantly to make room for me.

Our lips stayed locked as our tongues tangled.

I reached between us, pulling my erection through the slit in my boxers, then moved the seat of her panties aside.

“Then I slid in slow,” I sighed as I sank into her warmth, feeling her walls mold around me. “Just like this.”

She gasped, her fingers flying to the back of my head as she rolled her hips, meeting my first thrust at just the right moment.

“I love your dream, baby,” she sighed, arching under me.

“I love you.”

I sank deeper, losing myself in her heat, in her softness, in the way her body responded to mine.

Losing myself in the certainty that this—us—would always be enough.

That this moment was forever. But forever has a way of slipping through your fingers when you least expect it.

CHAPTER 4

THEN – LATE SUMMER 2021… FOUR YEARS LATER

Ayla

“Mmm.” The second I stepped into the kitchen, I inhaled deeply. “Smelling good.”

Hassani chuckled as he stood over the stove, flipping a pancake.

Overhead, I stole a glance through the skylight. It was just past six in the morning, and the sky was beginning to brighten. Soft morning light filtering in.

I had watched seventeen seasons pass while living in this house. Witnessed how the morning light stretched longer in the summer and retreated in the winter.

We were a few weeks away from autumn, still in the final days of summer, which meant I had time to enjoy these sunrises before driving to Manhattan with Hassani for work.

Mingling with the scent of sweet pancakes and savory scrambled eggs was the rich aroma of fresh coffee, and I went straight for it. I needed it. My eyes were burning.

Musiq Soulchild’s “Betterman” played low from our small Bluetooth stereo as Hassani moved between flipping pancakes and sketching in his sketchbook.

I snickered while reaching for a mug. The man was always sketching something. Doodling everything from a built-in bookshelf for my ever-growing collection of nonfiction books to a cozy nook beneath the staircase, perfect for reading or for him to sketch.

I teased him about it all the time.

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