Page 99 of Matchmaking On The Menu

I’m still sensitive from my earlier orgasm, but even so I can feel my body respond to him. It builds steadily, a slow, undeniable climb that pulls me higher with every movement, every brush of my clit against his thumb, every gasp or groan as if he can’t quite get enough. I bend to kiss him as I move, losing track of everything else—of time, of where we are, of anything that isn’t him and this and the way my body reacts without asking me first. My nails drag lightly over his arms, and he exhales sharply against my mouth, like that did something to him too, like we’re caught in the same current and neither of us is trying to get out.

“Dannica.” He says my name like it means something different here, and I feel it in my chest, in the way everything tightens just a little more. I break the kiss and straighten.

“I—” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Nothing useful. Nothing coherent. I tip my head back, my grip on him tightening as the feeling crests again, closer, sharper. I can’t hold on to it the way I want to, can’t control it the way I think I should be able to. “Teddy…”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and I do, even though everything feels like it’s slipping, because something in his voice makes it seem important.

He sits up, his forehead presses to mine, his breathing rougher now, matching mine. There’s something about the way we’re right there together, not separate, not one leading and the other following, that pushes me the rest of the way. The sensation hits all at once, pulling the breath right out of me. My body tightens, then lets go, and I cling to him as it rolls through me, overwhelming and incredible.

He follows right after, like we’re tied together somehow, one pulling the other with them. His breath breaks against my skin, his fingers digging in slightly as he lets go too. For a second, everything goes quiet except for the sound of us trying to catch our breath.

I let out a shaky laugh against his shoulder, my hand still curled against his back as if I forgot to let go, and he huffs out something that might be a laugh, but it’s soft, quiet, like he’s still in a daze.

We don’t move right away. I don’t want to.

Eventually, I roll to the side, and he pulls me against him until my head’s resting on his chest and my leg is draped over his. He wraps his arms around me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I stay there, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing under my cheek.

This feels different. Not just the sex, but everything.

We lay like that until our breathing falls back into a normal pattern, and I feel the pull of my heavy eyelids.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now, his fingers tracing absent patterns along my arm.

“Hey,” I murmur back, not lifting my head.

There’s a small pause, but it’s not awkward, just… full.

“You should write,” he says.

I blink, lifting my head slightly so I can look at him. “That’s your post-sex takeaway?”

His mouth curves a little. “One of them.”

I snort, nestling my head back against his chest. “You’ve never even read anything I’ve written.”

“I don’t need to.”

“That’s a bold claim.”

“I can tell,” he says simply.

I huff out a quiet laugh. “From what? My award-winning descriptions of the diner specials?”

“From the way you see things,” he says. There’s no hesitation in it, no teasing. “And how your brain works. You turn everything into a story without even trying.”

My chest tightens a little at that.

“That doesn’t mean I’m good at it,” I say.

“It means you’re meant to do it,” he replies, just as easily.

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because the thing is, a part of me wants to believe him.

I yawn against his chest, and he chuckles.

“Get some sleep,” he adds quietly, brushing his fingers through my hair, grounding me before I can spiral too far into that thought.

I hum softly, settling closer into him, my eyes already starting to feel heavier. “Bossy.”