Page 82 of Butter My Biscuit

I fall onto his chest, and he holds me. I’m so sweaty but full of satisfaction as he kisses my forehead. We’re two beating hearts. That’s it. With his arms around me, I close my eyes and listen to his racing heartbeat until it steadies. We stay connected until our breathing slows.

After we clean up, I climb back into bed, and a naked Harrison holds me, my ass against his cock and his arm around my waist.

“You’re a great big spoon.” I press against him as our bodies mold together and we relax.

“You’re a great little spoon,” he says, kissing my neck and nibbling on my ear.

I giggle, the scruff on his jaw tickling.

“When I wake up tomorrow and walk out that door, I’m going to pretend like none of this ever happened.” I turn and look into his eyes as he continues, “I need you to be prepared for this version of us to be locked away forever. And I want you to promise me that if you ever becomecertainabout us, you’ll tell me.”

I draw an X over my heart so he knows I will, then settle back into position.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I admit into the quiet night. “It’s my biggest fear.”

“You’ll always be my best friend,” he says.

“Forever?”

“Cross my heart.”

16

HARRISON

The next morning, I wake up to pounding at the door. I swear it sounds like someone might knock the shit down. I open my eyes, and Grace sits up in bed. Her room is bright as hell, but it makes her look angelic in the warm morning light.

I smile at her, pulling the covers over my head. “Make it go away.”

“Oh my God, Harrison. What time is it?” she asks, frantic. “Did you oversleep?”

That’s when I realize I did. It’s something thatneverfucking happens either. Ever. No matter what. I don’t oversleep.

I reach across the bedside table and grab my phone in a panic. “Seven? How? Shit.”

“Grace!” a familiar female voice yells.

“Remi,” we say in unison.

Our eyes are wide as saucers.

“We’refucked,” Grace whispers.

“We fucked around and found out,” I say, glancing down at my naked body. Clothes—I need them now.

As I rush around, I wish I had the ability to stop time so last night would have lasted forever. I push the thoughts away. What happened can’t ever be discussed again. It’s over. Back to pretending.

I crawl out of bed to see the jacket of the suit I was wearing last night. “Do you have any of my spare clothes here? Jogging pants? T-shirt?”

My suit is scattered throughout her house. I quickly pluck up the pieces and shove them in Grace’s closet.

“Where are my boxers?” I hurry and search around, but can’t seem to find them. “Fuck it.”

She hands me some old jogging pants that I let her borrow at some point and a T-shirt that has agiganticmiddle finger on it.

“I look like a dickhead.”

“You do.” She laughs. “But you gotta go,” Grace says as she hurries and wiggles into some jeans. She slides on a sports bra and a T-shirt.

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