Page 55 of Up in Smoke

Surely not.

His fingers pick up speed inside of me, he sucks my clit into his mouth hard enough to make my heart stop, and finally . . . it hits.

No sound comes out of my mouth, despite my jaw locking open. I don’t think. It’s tough to hear anything but the ringing in my ears. Splotches of color burst behind my lids from squeezing my eyes shut so hard.

My grip never loosens on his hair. My bones turn to liquid. And after one final shock through my system—a burning explosion of paralyzing heat—I collapse.

His mouth lifts, but he replaces it with the hand that was wrapped around my thigh.

“That’s it.” His thumb traces every sensitive pulse that lingers, slow and light, like he’s coaxing them to stick around for as long as possible. “That’s my girl.”

I try to sit up when he pulls away from me. I swear, I do. But no functional part of my body can take signals from my brain at the moment.

I’m vaguely aware of two arms scooping under me a minute later. The fog wears off when Tripp walks across the room with me cradled in his arms. I press my flushed cheek to his chest. My nose scrunches, realizing he’s put his shirt back on. Still, it’s warm and comfortable, and I wish I could stay just like this for a little while longer.

The mattress dips softly beneath me when he lays me down. I open my eyes and blink away the blurriness until I get a good look at him sitting on the edge of my bed.

The couch would have worked just fine for whatever we’re about to do next, so I’m surprised he took the time to relocate here. I lazily reach for the button on his jeans, but he smirks and takes my wrist, placing my hand on my stomach.

“Be right back,” he says.

Snuggling into the pile of pillows is a dangerous choice while I wait for him to come back and take his turn. Tiny tingles still course through my body. My once-quivering legs are numb now, and I could almost drift off. Almost.

My eyes open halfway when a glass of water taps on my nightstand. Tripp pulls the covers up to my chin, then leans down to swipe the hair from the side of my face and whisper softly with his lips against the shell of my ear.

“Pretty girl.”

I giggle, squirming as his voice elicits chills over my skin.

“Go to sleep. I’m going to head home.”

“No,” I whisper in protest.

He chuckles while I yawn, and my eyes drift closed again.

19

TRIPP

It could be worse.

I could have chickened out. I could have failed to get her off or even stayed the night, despite her just wanting to test the waters of a casual hookup.

I’m only freaking the fuck out. My obsessive thoughts after what we just did are the stuff of literal nightmares. I’m already calculating when I can have more intimate—morenaked—experiences with Mesa. As soon as possible.

We were effortless. Hot. Attuned to each other like we’d done it a million times before.

I want to do it again.

I want to do it until I die, and even the idea of that doesn’t seem gratifying enough.

My truck door slams hard enough to trigger an earthquake. One hand painfully grips the wheel and the other turns the key to start the engine with more force than necessary.

Once my Bronco roars to life, I tug at my pant leg. The mess underneath is a first. She thinks I didn’t try to get mine. What she doesn’t know is that I already did, and all it took was a taste of her.

“Shit,” I mumble while opening the glove box to no paper towels or napkins.

Ignoring the evidence of how much having one short-lived night with her like that affected me, I finally look up and prop my left elbow on the driver’s side window, then lean the side of my head into my hand.

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