Page 23 of Loco

I couldn’t stop thinking about the look she gave me before she drifted off. Not angry, exactly, not even suspicious. Just unsettled and wary. That soft frown she tried to hide when she’d asked about Ailee—her old neighbor, the woman she used to grab coffee with and now barely mentioned. The woman who was helping me behind her back.

The woman I couldn’t tell Sayla about.

Not because I didn’t want to. I wanted to come clean so badly it hurt, but she was too close to this case, and Sayla was too smart and capable. If I gave her even a sliver of truth, she’d unravel the whole thing. And then she’d be in danger. Real danger. The kind you don’t walk away from.

So I said nothing. Again.

I lay there beside her in the dark, the guilt chewing through me while her breath rose and fell, slow and even. I should have felt comforted by her warmth and her body curved against mine, skin brushing mine with every breath. Instead, I felt like a liar, like I didn’t deserve this closeness.

Then she moved.

It was subtle at first, a shift in her breathing, a murmur against my collarbone. She rolled over in her sleep, sighing quietly as her arm slung across my torso, and she tucked herself closer into my side. That part wasn’t new, Sayla sleep-clung when she let herself drop her guard.

But where her hand landed was new, right on my dick.

I froze.

Her fingers were relaxed, but her palm pressed firmly against me, right through my sweats. There was no mistaking it—she was cupping me. My cock, already twitchy from the weight of her body and the scent of her hair, responded immediately. Like it had been waiting for this moment. Like it didn’t care one bit about the moral implications.

And neither, apparently, did she. Sayla moaned softly in her sleep, the sound low and intimate, and shifted a little more. Herhand tightened—barely, but enough. Regardless, it was enough to light my nerves on fire.

My breath caught, and I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to stay still and not move a muscle. But my heart was hammering. My cock was growing harder by the second beneath her touch, the thin cotton of my sweats doing absolutely nothing to hide it.

This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t some cruel joke. Sayla was there, warm and soft and unknowingly wrapped around me in the most intimate way imaginable, and I was losing my mind.

It was dangerous, how badly I wanted her. Not just her body, even though I wanted that too. It was the way she trusted me enough to fall asleep next to me, even if her gut was telling her something was off. The way she chose to believe in me, even when I didn’t deserve it.

Her fingers twitched again, a lazy squeeze, and I nearly groaned. Every ounce of restraint I had was screaming to get up, to move her hand, to break the spell before I crossed a line we couldn’t come back from.

But I didn’t.

I stayed, frozen and on fire, listening to her breathe, feeling her hand against me, caught between guilt and the kind of hunger that keeps you up at night. And the worst part was that I didn’t want her to let go.

I felt like shit because Sayla had no idea what she was doing. Not really. She was asleep when her hand landed on me, when her fingers curled slightly and sent a jolt of heat straight through me. And I could have—should have—removed her hand the second it happened.

But I didn’t. Instead, I lay there, pulse hammering, taking in every single sensation as I hardened beneath her touch.

It wasn’t just that it felt good—it was that it was her. The warmth of her hand, the easy way she curled into me in her sleep, the unconscious trust in her movements. My stomach twisted with guilt. Would she be embarrassed if she woke up and realized what she’d been doing? Would she think I’d taken advantage of her? Or worse—what if she thought I was rejecting her if I pulled away?

Seriously, why did life hate me?

Decision made, I let out a slow, unsteady breath and reached down to lift her hand away carefully. But before I could, her fingers flexed, and her eyes fluttered open sleepily heavy-lidded. Dark with something that made my body tighten all over again.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips as she glanced down at her hand, still wrapped around me.

“I’d apologize for what I appear to be doing to you,” she rasped, voice thick with sleep, “but you’re not objecting.” Her fingers squeezed, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through me. “And you appear to be enjoying it.”

A broken sound escaped my throat. “I am enjoying it.” My voice came out rough, almost desperate, and I licked my dry lips before managing, “But are you?”

Sayla didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she shifted, moving with slow, deliberate ease until she was draped over me, the press of her body warm and soft against mine. Her eyes never left mine, like she was studying me, reading every inch of my reaction.

Then, finally, she dipped her head and kissed me. Soft at first, just the brush of her lips, teasing, testing. A question.

I didn’t hesitate to answer.

I reached up, cupping the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her hair, and pulled her down into me, deepening the kiss. She moaned softly against my mouth, the sound vibrating straight through me and any remnants of restraint I had shattered.

I rolled her fully on top of me, pressing her against my chest, the heat of her searing through my sweater. Her nails scraped lightly over my skin, her body molding to mine, and my hands roamed, exploring the curve of her hips, the delicate dip of her lower back, the soft skin just above the waistband of her leggings.

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