Page 75 of Something Like Fate

His eyes flick back to mine, and the blood rushes through me, pounding through my ears. “Because you’re perfect. Even more perfect than I already thought,” he whispers, lips catching mine again.

Teller knows I’ve always been a bit self-conscious about the roundness of my stomach and the stretch marks on my inner thighs. And now, I’m entirely exposed in the harsh light of the bathroom. He still makes me feel perfect.

Teller picks me up and carries me back to the bed. I pull him on top of me and we lie there, his hand over my hammering heart. His moanvibrates against my mouth, and I want to catalog this moment, the way he sounds and tastes as he pulls my knee over his hip.

He squeezes my thigh and pauses, placing his opposite hand beside my face to support himself. “Wait, I just want to check in.”

“Okay?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks softly, gaze imploring. “Because I don’t want you to regret it.”

“Do you think you’ll regret it?”

“No. Not at all. I just don’t want you to. I care about you too much,” he says with a gentle swipe of his thumb on my hip bone.

I can’t help but smile. I’m grateful for the check-in. At the prospect of sex, most guys would waste no time getting straight to business. But Teller is still Teller, incredibly thoughtful, always thinking about others.

“I won’t regret it. I mean, we’re just two friends soberly consenting, right?”

He pulls back slightly, blinking through the darkness. “Right. It’s totally normal. Friends have sex all the time. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Just casual vacation sex,” I say, even though this certainly doesn’t feel casual.

“Things won’t be weird after, right?”

“After we make each other come? No, not at all.” We both laugh, his chest vibrating against mine. “Seriously, though. It won’t be weird if we don’t make it weird,” I whisper, reaching to trace the waistband of his boxers.

We shed the remainder of his clothes quickly. Maybe it’s me being awkward about the fact that he’s entirely naked, but I can’t help but laugh when he blindly tosses them into the darkness. Regular Teller would never.

Before he climbs back over me, he pauses. “Wait.” He dives off the bed to grab his jeans from the floor, pulling a condom from his wallet. “Safety first.” A glimpse of Regular Teller.

I laugh. “I didn’t take you for someone who carries condoms aroundjust in case.”

“Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

His voice is low and husky again. He climbs back over me, threading his hands through mine. A hush falls over us. There’s only the sound of our hearts beating, the bursts of our breaths. My mind is quiet, peaceful, and it occurs to me how comfortable I am. How safe I feel with Teller. Sure, this is entirely foreign, but it still feels like us. Even when he’s looking into my eyes, telling me how beautiful I am and how much he wants this. Even when we’re skin to skin and he’s touching me exactly how I want to be touched, as though he knows my body better than I do.

When we’ve finished and I’m cocooned in his arms, listening to the soft hum of his breath, I can’t help but wish we’d done this sooner. And now that we have, I’m not sure things will ever be the same.

26

Astrand of sunlight peeks through a crack in the blackout drapes, blasting me in the face. I wake with a jolt, covering myself with the sheets, hiding from the light like a vampire. Instinctively, I stretch my arm out, feeling for the solid mass of Teller’s body. But his side of the bed is empty.

And that’s when last night comes back to me. Dancing at the restaurant under the soft glow of the lanterns. Laughing so hard our stomachs hurt. The quickening of his warm breath against my neck. The feeling of his soft lips melding with mine. The coldness of the marble under my thighs when he hoisted me on the counter. And the weight of him over me, joining us together.

Teller and I had sex. Twice.

Incredible sex, if I may add.

By the time I succumb to reality and pull myself out of bed, there’s still no sign of him. Not in the bathroom, not in the hallway. Could he have left? This early in the morning? It feels out of character, given his tendency to sleep in.

Flashes of my vision snap through my mind at rapid speed. No. He couldn’t have. Frantic, I open the closet door, double-checking that his belongings are still there. They are, thank god. He wouldn’t have left without them.

He must have gone to breakfast. Or maybe a morning walk? Run? Then again, Teller isn’t huge on breakfast, or physical activity, beforenoon. The only other scenario I can come up with is that he’s been kidnapped by the Italian Mob.

Before I alert the authorities, I realize I haven’t checked the balcony.

I spot his loafer, stretched against the guardrail.

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