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We definitely shouldn’t have chosen a horror movie. But there we were, sitting on my couch in near darkness because we didn’t want to wake Noa, and Sam was practically living inside a blanket fort she’d constructed around herself.

“Oh my god, why is he going into the basement?” she whispered, pulling the blanket up to her nose. “Nobody in the history of horror movies has ever had a good time in a basement.”

The killer jumped out, and Sam jerked so hard she nearly launched herself off the couch. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It’s not funny!” She smacked my arm without looking away from the screen.

“Oh, it is.” I grinned in the dark. “You literally knew what was going to happen and then jumped anyway.”

“Shut up. Logic and fear don’t have to be friends.”

She scowled at me, and even in the TV’s glow, she looked adorable. Annoyed and terrified and absolutely perfect. God, I was pathetic. Three months of having her in my life and I’d become completely, absolutely obsessed with this woman. She’d integrated into our routines so seamlessly it scared the hell out of me. Noa asked for her every morning. I looked for excuses to text her throughout the day. We’d become whatever this was, and I wanted more. Wanted her here every night, arguing about movie choices and stealing my popcorn.

“If you’re so brave,” she muttered, “then you won’t mind when the…”

Thunder crashed overhead with enough force to rattle the windows, the deep boom vibrating through the floorboards and into our bones. Sam didn’t just jump this time. She full-on launched herself at me, blanket and all, practically climbing into my lap, her soft curves pressing urgently against my chest as her heart hammered wildly.

“Fuck!” she whisper-yelled against my chest, her hot breath seeping through my shirt, carrying the faint scent of her vanilla shampoo.

The lights cut out instantly, plunging us into complete darkness. We both froze, listening for any sound from Noa’s room. Nothing. Just the storm’s fury and Sam’s rapid breathing against my neck, her exhales warm and ragged, stirring the hairs there.

She started to shift away, probably embarrassed by her reaction, when my hands moved without permission, landing on her thighs. The motion stopped her cold, her muscles tensing under my palms, the thin fabric of my pants doing nothing to hide the smooth, heated skin beneath.

Neither of us breathed.

My hands applied gentle pressure, guiding her leg across my lap, fingers digging slightly into the firm flesh of her inner thigh. I wasn’t thinking anymore. My body had taken complete control, operating on months of want and the intoxicating reality of her weight on top of me, her pussy hovering just inches from where my cock strained against my own pants.

She followed my guidance until she was straddling me properly, her knees bracketing my hips, and I had to bite back a groan as her heat settled directly over my throbbing erection. Christ. Three months of torture and now she was right where I’d imagined her a thousand times, her slick warmth radiating through the layers of cloth, making my balls ache with need.

“Tyson,” she whispered, her voice a husky tremor that sent a jolt straight to my groin.

“Sam,” I whispered back, my hands skating up her thighs, memorizing the shape of her through thin fabric, thumbs brushing the crease where leg met hip, feeling the damp spot growing on her shorts.

The darkness made everything feel suspended. Unreal. Maybe that was why she spoke, her words spilling out like a confession in the void.

“I think about you too.” Her voice was barely audible over the rain. “But I need you to know that I’m still broken in some places and I don’t know when that stops.”

My grip tightened involuntarily, pulling her closer until her breasts crushed against my chest, nipples hardening into peaks that poked through her tank top. I wanted to tell her I’d wait forever. That she could be broken and whole and everything in between and I’d still want her exactly as she was. I’d still want to fuck her raw, my cock buried deep inside her dripping cunt.

She gasped softly when she settled fully against me, grinding down just enough to feel exactly how affected I was by her. Three months of careful control and my body betrayed me instantly, my cock rock-hard and pulsing beneath her, the tip leaking pre-cum that soaked into my boxers, the rigid length trapped and desperate for friction against her soaked folds.

“I’m not in a rush,” I managed to say, my voice rough with restraint, even as my hips bucked up involuntarily, rubbing my shaft along her clothed slit.

We moved toward each other slowly, inevitably, the air between us charged like the storm outside. My nose brushed hers, inhaling her sweet breath. My hand found her cheek, thumb stroking over soft skin, tracing the flush I couldn’t see but could feel heating under my touch. The darkness wrapped around us, creating a world where only we existed, our scents mingling.

“Sam, love,” I whispered, my lips grazing hers.

She closed the distance.

Finally. Fucking finally.

The first touch of her lips destroyed me. Soft and tentative for exactly one second before we both broke, hunger overtaking caution. My groan mixed with her sigh as she opened for me, letting me taste her properly for the first time. Coffee and popcorn made my head spin, her tongue slick and eager as it tangled with mine.

I was in fucking heaven right now. For a second, I was sure I was dead and this was the afterlife, because no Earth experience could feel like this. I was in pure, absolute bliss.

Her hips rocked against me, and the kiss turned desperate, teeth clashing. I was desperate. For her taste, her touch, every broken and perfect piece of her she might share with me. My hands found her hips, guiding her movement before sliding to grip her ass properly, fingers sinking into the plump cheeks, spreading them slightly to feel the heat of her crack through the fabric.

She tangled her fingers in my hair and pulled, breaking the kiss to let out a low moan that nearly finished me right there, the sound vibrating against my skin like a filthy promise.