I woke up with my lips still tingling.
More like my body had decided to betray me overnight and was now replaying the exact moment Tristan’s mouth had crashed into mine against that door. The way his hand had slid into my hair. The low sound he made when I bit his lip. The heat of him pressing me back like he couldn’t get close enough. I lay there staring at the ceiling of the room, cheeks burning, stomach in knots, wondering how the hell I was supposed to walk out of this room and look him in the eye.
I hadn’t left the bed yet, not even to pee. The second I thought about opening that door and seeing him in the kitchen—probably shirtless again, making terrible coffee like nothing had happened—my whole body locked up. So I stayed under the covers like a coward, phone in my hand, thumb hov
