Page 23 of Misbooked for Love

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. “That’s sweet, but…”

“But?” He encourages, and there’s a hint of frustration there.

“But it’s not that simple. You’re a great guy, Tom, but we live in different worlds. And when this ends—because it has to end—I don’t want to be the girl who can’t let go.”

Tom reaches out, cupping my face in his hands, and I can see the determination in his eyes. “What if it doesn’t have to end?”

I open my mouth to argue, to list all the reasons why this can’t work, but then he kisses me, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to erase every doubt from my mind. And for a moment, it works. I melt into him, my hands tangling in his hair, and all the reasons not to do this fade into the background.

When he pulls back, his forehead resting against mine, he sighs. “Clara, I know it’s complicated. I know we’ve got a lot to figure out. But I’m willing to try if you are.”

I blink up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “And what does trying look like?”

He smiles, a little unsure, but there’s hope in his eyes. “I don’t know yet. But maybe we take it one day at a time. See where this goes.”

I nod, feeling something crack open inside me, something I’ve been trying to keep locked away for the past four years. “Okay,” I reply, “one day at a time.”

Tom grins, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

And before I can process his words, his lips are on mine again, and all thoughts of the future, of the complications, of the real world evaporate into the background as we lose ourselves in each other. His hands roam my body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip, and I can feel the heat between my legs, the desire that has been simmering between us for a while now.

Tom’s hands slip under my t-shirt, his fingers skimming over my skin, goosebumps erupting in their wake. I can feel my nipples hardening, eager for his touch, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this turned on. His mouth trails down my jaw, his tongue skating over my collarbone, and I can’t help but arch into his touch, aching for more.

“Tom,” I gasp, my voice ragged with need. His response is a growl of approval as he continues moving his hands, his fingers slipping into my shorts, seeking out my clit.

“God, you’re so wet already,” he mumbles against my neck, and I blush, but I can’t bring myself to care. All I can focus on is the feel of his talented fingers, the way they know exactly where to touch, exactly how to send me spiraling over the edge.

“Condom,” I manage to gasp, my brain foggy with lust. “In my—” He silences me with a kiss, his fingers continuing their relentless pressure as he reaches for the floor on my side of the bed, grabbing his discarded pants from the floor.

“Got it,” he says, and a moment later, he’s back, foil packet in hand, and I can only whimper my approval as he removes my shorts and covers my body with his.

He’s slow at first, easing himself inside me, his eyes never leaving mine. “You okay?” he pants, and I nod, my walls clenching around him, trying to drawhim in further. “Good,” he says, his voice strained, “because I can’t get enough.”

And then he’s moving, his hips a blur as he picks up the pace, driving deep inside me, over and over again.

I can feel the pleasure building, coiling low in my belly, and I know it won’t be long. “Tom,” I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders, and with a final, animalistic growl, he picks up the pace even more, his hands on my hips, guiding us towards the edge.

“Me, too,” he grunts, and his movements become more frantic, his hips slamming into mine with a force that threatens to send me over the edge of the bed. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“So you’ve said,” I barely make out, giving him a cheeky smile that doesn’t last long, because just then, my world explodes, stars behind my eyelids as my climax washes over me, intense and all-consuming. Tom’s name is on my lips as I come undone, and a moment later, I feel him stiffen, his body tensing as he joins me.

We stay like that for a moment, panting, our bodies entwined, until Tom finally collapses on top of me, his chest heaving. He presses a quick kiss to my temple, and I let myself sink into the moment with this man, yet again.

16

TOM

The days have startedto blur together, each one marked by moments that feel like stolen time—Clara’s laughter echoing off the walls of the villa, the quiet conversations over breakfast, and the shared silences that say more than any words ever could. It’s like I’ve been living in a snow globe these past few days, everything outside this little bubble of ours faded into a distant hum.

But the countdown has started. Five days left. Four. Three. Each one slipping through my fingers faster than I can hold on to, and the looming reality of each of our departures feels like a ticking clock, a weight pressing against my chest. I can feel it in every second that passes, in every lingering glance and everykiss that tastes like a question we’re both too afraid to ask.

I’m in the kitchen, staring blankly at the coffee machine as it hisses and steams, when Clara walks in, her hair still damp from the shower we took together and her cheeks flushed from the heat. She’s wearing one of my sweatshirts, and the sight of her in my clothes does something to me that I can’t put into words. It’s stupid, really, but it feels like some kind of claim, like she’s mine, even if just for a little while longer.

“Hi,” she says, smiling as she slides onto the barstool, her fingers tapping idly on the counter. “What’s the plan for today?”

I hand her a mug, watching as she takes it, her fingers brushing against mine for just a second longer than necessary. It’s those little touches, those fleeting moments of connection, that have started to feel like lifelines. “I was thinking we could check out that ice skating rink you mentioned,” I say, trying to sound casual, even though I’ve been planning out every minute of our remaining time together in my head. “You said you’ve never skated, right?”

Clara’s eyes light up, and she takes a sip of her coffee, nodding. “Yeah, never had the chance. I always wanted to, though.”

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