Page 17 of Mashed Hearts
“Hi,” I whisper back, and kiss him. It’s slow at first—testing, teasing—then deeper, hungrier. His tongue slides against mine, and I’m straddling him before I realize I’ve moved, hips rolling instinctively. He groans into my mouth, hands gripping my ass like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
“Bedroom?” I breathe against his lips.
He stands, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing. “Yours or mine?”
“Mine. The girls, less snoring from that side of the cabin.”
We stumble down the hall, trying to be quiet and failing spectacularly—my hip hits the wall, his shoulder knocks a picture frame crooked. Inside my room, he kicks the door shut, presses me against it, and kisses me until my knees buckle. I tughis shirt over his head, palms sliding over warm skin and the faint ridges of abs I definitely didn’t have time to ogle earlier.
“God, I missed this,” he mutters, mouth trailing down my neck. “Missed you.”
I arch into him, fingers in his hair. “Show me.”
He does. Slowly, reverently, like he’s memorizing every inch. Clothes hit the floor in a whisper of fabric and laughter when my sock gets stuck on his wrist. The bed creaks under us, sheets cool against fevered skin. It’s not rushed—it’s four years of want compressed into touches and gasps and the way he says my name like a prayer.
His hands roam the entirety of my body as if he’s remembering every inch. He hovers over my body, his elbows straight, holding him up as he enters me slowly at first, before picking up speed. He presses in and pulls out. We’re trying our best to be quiet, but the bed is louder than I anticipated as I moan when his hand reaches between us and rubs my clit while he pumps into me, circles his hips and nips at my lips. Pleasure begins to build as he touches me, fills me, and makes my toes curl as my hips tilt up to meet him thrust for thrust.
My whole world begins to spin, my mouth goes dry and a quickening in my stomach starts as I come undone. He gradually builds up his pace, chasing my orgasm with his own with a feral growl.
Peppering kisses down my shoulder, I melt into him and attempt to control my erratic breathing.
After, we’re tangled in sheets and each other, his heartbeat under my ear for real this time. The cabin is quiet, snow tapping the window like it’s keeping time.
“New beginning?” he asks, voice sleepy.
“Same heart,” I answer, and kiss his chest.
Outside, the world is white and waiting. Inside, it’s just us—older, wiser, and finally on the same page.
josh
. . .
I wakeup to the smell of Kait’s shampoo—vanilla and something that makes my chest ache in the best way—and the soft weight of her leg thrown over mine. The cabin is quiet except for the faint clink of dishes in the kitchen and Jack’s off-key humming of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” It’s time to head out of the cabin, the Friendsgiving bubble is about to pop. Everyone’s packing up to head to their respective family obligations before real life slams back in on Monday like a hangover.
Kait stirs, her nose scrunching in that adorable way that used to make me cancel plans just to watch her wake up. She blinks at me, hair a wild halo, and smiles sleepy-slow. “Morning,”
“Morning,” I lean in to kiss her, because I can now—because we’retrying—and she tastes like sleep and mint toothpaste. The kiss starts soft, then deepens until she’s half on top of me, my hands sliding under the hem of her sleep shirt to trace the warm dip of her spine. We’re two seconds from getting lost in one another, when a quick knock and a head peaks into the bedroom.
“Rise and shine, lovebirds! Ainsley’s making cinnamon rolls and I will fight you for the corner piece!”
Kait groans into my neck. “Gah, the timing.”
“We will have more time to do more,” I murmur, stealing one more kiss before we untangle. She swats my ass as I roll out of bed, and I’m pretty sure my grin could power the cabin for a week.
Packing is a chaotic symphony of zippers and passive-aggressive debates over who left the half-empty wine bottle in the fridge. Micah’s trying to Tetris his laptop into a backpack that’s 90% energy drinks. Hope’s color-coding luggage tags like she’s running airport security. Jack’s attempting to stuff an entire leftover pie into his duffel “for the road.”
Kait and I are the last ones out, hands linked as we haul my bags to my rental SUV and hers to her Volkswagen. The group gathers on the porch for the obligatory group hug and photo to chronicle our weeks adventures. There’s teasing, promises to text, and Jack’s dramatic declaration that “next year, we’re doing Vegas Friendsgiving, baby!” While Ainsley threatens to revoke his invitation. We all laugh, but there’s a bittersweet edge. This cabin, this week, it’s been magic. And now it’s over.
Except for Kait and me, it’s not over. It’s just beginning.
Kait and I stand at the drivers door to her rental car. Kait’s scrolling through my phone’s playlist, declaring that she gets to pick my music home to make me think of her. She lands on some throwback John Mayer, and I groan.
“Really? Joh Mayer? Am I a chick?”
She smirks. “It’s romantic. Deal with it.”
I reach over, lace my fingers through hers. “So, I meet you at your parents place first. We do a proper family tour?”
