Page 21 of No Strings Attached
The taste of her is still on my tongue, the shape of her curvesetched into my hands, the sound of her moans echoing in my head like a damn song I can’t turn off.
My hand moves faster, tighter, trying to match what she gave me—but it’s useless. I can’t recreate her warmth.
It’s theconnectionthat’s messing with me. One night with a stranger who felt like anything but, and now, here I am, touching myself like some desperate teenage version of me, chasing something I know I’m not going to find in my own hand.
Still, I keep going.
My hips jerk into my palm, breath ragged, skin flushed, frustration and need twisted so tightly together I don’t know where one ends and the other begins.
And then, I stop.
My fingers curl into a fist, pressed against the tile.
It’s not fucking working.
I let the water scald my skin a little longer, trying to wash away the need and pull Amira has left behind.
When I finally step out, I towel off and throw on some sweats, glancing back toward the bed.
She hasn’t moved.
I should probably wake her, remind her we’ve got a flight to catch.
Instead, I head out to the kitchen area, quietly rummaging around for the hotel’s coffee setup. I manage to get the machine going and lean against the counter, watching the dark liquid drip into the pot.
I pour two cups, bring one back to the bedroom, and set it down on the nightstand beside her with some milk and sugar, not sure how she likes it. Maybe the smell will do the trick.
A minute passes before she stirs.
Amira blinks up at me, groggy. She looks fucking adorable.
“Thanks,” she mumbles when she spots the mug.
“Figured I owed you something after wrecking your sleep,” I say with a crooked grin.
She gives a faint smile though it doesn’t reach her eyes and just sips quietly, holding the mug like a barrier.
And suddenly, the warmth drains from the room.
Amira’s distant again. The version of her I got last night—the soft, open, wickedly honest one—feels miles away. I should’ve expected that. We agreed this was one night. We made that clear. But there’s something in the way she won’t meet my eyes that makes me want to pry.
Why do I care?
I’ve sworn off relationships for a reason. They’re messy, complicated, distracting.
Instead, I say, “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretches between us, awkward and thick. I sip my own coffee to fill the space. This is the part where things are supposed to be easy again. Back to strangers. No complications.
Without a word, Amira slides out of bed and disappears into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her.
I sigh and drag a hand through my hair.
One night. That’s all it was.
