Page 16 of The Words of Us

My fingers fan across the table, holding myself up as she moves down my body. My jeans are tight, and I curse them. They look good on my ass, but what I would give for a quick pull and for them to be gone. But Evie just grins up at me as she lowers onto her knees, savoring the time it takes, each slow second of peeling them from my skin. She kisses down my body, over my panties, thighs, knees, shins, and as my foot rises, even my ankle gets a soft kiss too. And that makes me lose my mind. I let out a low moan because who knew it could be just so fucking sexy.

Then she makes me suffer every slow second again on her way back up. It is agonizing. I can feel the wetness spread through my panties. They’re soaked through, and I would be embarrassed by my need if I had any time to process my thoughts. She is so close, and her nose brushes over the fabric as her lips reach my upper thigh. I feel her inhale, smelling me, taking me in. Like I can have no secrets from her, she even takes my scent.

And with the slowest of pulls, she peels down the silk of my panties. I think she will wait, and I brace myself, tensing every muscle, but she reads my body, knows I am there, that I have waited long enough, and she buries her face against my pussy. A deep suck, a push and swirl of her tongue, instant pressure. Her hands take my hips and rock them so I’m on her tongue. To say it takes seconds for me to come would be an exaggeration. I let it all out, right there in the middle of the store against her beautiful face, my need and desire leaving a glossy sheen on her skin as I moan and writhe over and over, completely lost in her. One bit of pressure from her tongue was all it took- as though we were made for each other. My orgasm has no control, no restraint, and she is so hungry for it all.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the pounding of my heart, the raw, electric pulse of pleasure still echoing through my veins. I cling to Evie, trying to catch my breath, my body feeling both impossibly light and achingly heavy, like I might float away if not for the steady, grounding presence of her arms around me. My mind is blissfully blank, filled only with the fading waves of everything she’s just pulled out of me.

Evie pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me, her breath still warm against my skin. The way she looks at me—soft, tender, with a kind of quiet intensity—makes my chest ache. It’s a look that says so much more than words ever could, and I can feel the weight of it settling over me like a blanket, wrapping me up in this sudden, unexpected tenderness.

She leans in, brushing her lips against my temple in a kiss that’s so gentle, so careful, it makes my eyes sting. Her mouth lingers there, and I let out a slow, shuddering breath, feeling that kiss seep into me, grounding me, anchoring me.

Without speaking, Evie takes my hand, her fingers curling around mine as she gently guides me down to the floor, right there among the scattered books. I follow, still dazed, still floating somewhere between reality and this dreamlike state where nothing else matters but the two of us. I feel the lingering warmth of release in my limbs, a pleasant heaviness that makes every movement slow and deliberate.

Evie settles us on the floor, carefully maneuvering around the paperbacks. Her movements are slow and tender, like she’s handling something fragile, and there’s a kind of reverence in the way she touches me, like she’s trying to hold onto the moment just as tightly as I am. She reaches for a blanket that’s draped over one of the chairs and wraps it around us, pulling me close until we’re cocooned together in the quiet, messy intimacy of this space.

I melt into her, resting my cheek against her chest, and the sound of her heartbeat is like a lullaby, soft and rhythmic, soothing every part of me that’s still buzzing with leftover adrenaline. I listen to it and let it wash over me, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. I feel sated, content, wrapped up in something that feels bigger than just this moment.

Evie’s arms come around me, holding me tight, and I let myself relax into her completely. The bookstore is quiet around us, the soft rustle of the blanket the only sound breaking the stillness. I can’t remember the last time I let myself feel this—this kind of calm, this closeness. I don’t want to move, don’t want to do anything but stay wrapped up in Evie, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, the comforting weight of the blanket over us.

I feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

We don’t need to speak. The silence says everything. And I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

9

EVIE

The bookstore is still bathed in the soft blue light of early morning when I wake up, and for a moment, I’m disoriented, caught between the fading dream of last night and reality slowly coming into focus. I can feel the familiar, comforting weight of the bookstore around me—the scent of old paper, the quiet hum of the city outside—but there’s something different, something warmer, more immediate.

It’s Sasha. She’s curled up beside me, still tangled in the blanket we pulled off the chair last night, her hair spilling over her face in messy waves. Her breathing is soft and even, the rise and fall of her chest a quiet rhythm that matches the peaceful calm I feel settling in my own chest. I watch her for a moment, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, and it hits me all over again: She’s here, we’re here, and everything that happened last night wasn’t just some vivid, fleeting dream.

My mind drifts back to last night—kisses that grew hungrier, touches that lingered longer, and the way we’d finally given in, losing ourselves in the messy, beautiful chaos of each other. The bookstore is still a little wrecked from it: books scattered across the floor, a couple of chairs tipped sideways, and the faintesthint of our laughter still echoed in the corners. It’s never felt more like my space, yet also, for the first time, like something shared.

I take a slow breath, feeling the cool air against my skin where the blanket doesn’t quite reach, and I let myself relax into the moment. Sasha stirs beside me, her eyes fluttering open, and when she looks up at me, there’s this soft, sleepy smile that tugs at my heart.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice husky and warm, still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” I whisper back, my fingers reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. The gesture feels natural, easy, and Sasha leans into it, her bright green eyes closing briefly as if savoring the touch.

There’s a comfortable silence that stretches between us, filled with the quiet sounds of the world waking up outside. I’ve never been good at mornings—too many thoughts crashing in at once, too many things to do—but right now, all I want is to stay here, wrapped up in this rare feeling of peace.

But the day is already creeping in, and as much as I want to linger in this bubble, there’s a bookstore to run. I sit up slowly, stretch my arms above my head, and glance around at the scattered books, the disarray that marks our path from last night. It’s a mess, but it’s our mess, and that thought brings a small, unexpected smile to my lips.

“We really did a number on the place, huh?” Sasha says, her voice laced with amusement as she follows my gaze, taking in the aftermath of our evening.

I chuckle, nodding as I stand, offering her my hand to pull her up beside me. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like this. But hey, it’s kind of a look, don’t you think?”

Sasha laughs softly, and the sound is like music easing the last of the tension from my shoulders. We start to move aroundthe bookstore, picking up books and righting chairs, slipping easily into a rhythm that feels like we’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s not awkward; it’s strangely comfortable, like we’ve found a new way of fitting into each other’s lives, even in the quiet routines of the morning.

She reaches for a stack of books near the counter, pausing to read a few of the titles before carefully placing them back on the shelf. I watch her, captivated by the simple way she moves, her focus so genuine, like she’s savoring every small detail. There’s something incredibly intimate about seeing her like this—in my space, handling my books, bringing her presence into the nooks and crannies of my life.

As we work, we fall into easy conversation, punctuated by soft laughter and the occasional teasing remark. She makes fun of my alphabetized shelves, and I roll my eyes, defending my organizational system with mock seriousness. There’s a lightness to it all, a playful back-and-forth that feels like we’ve known each other much longer than we have. It’s a new kind of intimacy, not just in touch, but in the way we talk, the way we share the space, the way her presence blends seamlessly into my morning routine.

I catch her watching me a few times, her gaze lingering in a way that makes my skin warm. There’s a quiet intensity, like she’s memorizing every detail, and it makes my heart stutter. I realize I’m doing the same—watching her move, listening to the cadence of her voice, holding onto every little moment because it feels too good to let slip away.

Eventually, the bookstore is back in order, but it doesn’t feel the same. It feels new, like it’s been touched by something I didn’t know I needed. I turn back to Sasha, wiping my hands on my jeans and smiling softly as she looks at me, and for a second, everything else falls away. The morning light filters through thewindows, casting soft shadows across the shelves, and there’s a feeling in the air that I can’t quite name but don’t want to lose.

She steps closer, reaching out to brush her fingers against mine, and it’s such a small, simple touch, but it makes my chest tighten. “I like this,” she says quietly, her voice gentle. “Being here with you. It feels…right.”

---