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Peyton’s hand comes up, resting against my hip. The contact sends a sharp awareness through me. I watch her, giving her space to decide what comes next. A memory flickers through my mind uninvited. Her drunken confession when she admitted there were things she’d never done, things she’d never felt safe enough to try. I would love nothing more than to be the first to experience all that with her. But she needs to be the first to make a move.

As if reading my thoughts, her fingers curl against the towel at my waist. She looks up again, a silent question in her expression, and I offer her a reassuring nod. The towel loosens and slips away. Cool air brushes over my heated skin, my hardened cock standing proudly right in front of her face. She takes it all in, licking her lips. The movement pulls a groan from me and Peyton answers by leaning in closer, her hot mouth only an inch away from the tip leaking with precum.

“Is this okay?” she asks. Her voice holds that same mix of curiosity and uncertainty I remember from her confession. It doesn’t diminish the moment. If anything, it makes it more intimate.

“It’s more than okay.” I say, my hand brushing gently along her cheek. “We go at your pace. Always.”

A small, almost shy smile touches her mouth. “Just tell me if I do something wrong.”

“There’s nothing you can do wrong.”

Her gaze flicks up one more time, searching my face for more reassurance. Whatever she finds steadies her. The first lick around my crown is exploratory, and the sensation drags a low, involuntary moan out of me. She swirls her tongue teasingly, licking the precum off. It’s one of the sexiest sights I’ve ever seen in my life.

Slowly, she moves her hand to help and finds a rhythm that feels so damn intoxicating. I keep one hand at the top of her head, but don’t direct her movements. Taking more of my length in, Peyton starts moving her mouth up and down.

“That’s it.” The words come out low and rough. “Just like that, sweetheart.”

She hums at the praise, the sound vibrating as my head tips back with a low, unfiltered moan. Her mouth feels like heaven wrapped around my cock. The sensation builds gradually, making my head spin. My jaw tightens as I fight the urge to lose myself completely, yet wanting to stay present for her.

“That’s it,” I say again. “You’re doing so well, your mouth full of my cock. What a fucking sight.”

Peyton clearly loves the dirty talk because she sucks harder. It’s too damn good and I won’t last much longer. When she moves her hand to squeeze my balls, I groan and enjoy the added pleasure.

“Almost there,” I warn.

Instead of switching her position or letting go, she keeps sucking and licking me like her own personal lollipop. Incapable of thinking or stopping my release, I come down her throat and she drinks every last drop.

“Well, fuck. Aren’t you eager?” I can’t keep the approval out of my voice. “That’s my woman.”

Her breath catches hearing the praise. She lets my still hardened cock slip from between her lips, her tongue tracing the underside one last time before she pulls back completely. I can't help but stare as she sits back, her lips glistening, completely satisfied with herself.

When I coax her back up, it’s not from urgency but from the need to hold her in my arms. She rises slowly, eyes searching mine with a hint of nervous anticipation. I cup her face in both hands and kiss her, letting everything I’m feeling pour into it. She melts into the connection with a soft sigh. It sends a different kind of heat through me, deeper and more emotional than before.

I taste myself on her tongue and groan. “You okay?” she murmurs against my mouth.

“I’m more than okay. You were so damn amazing.” I’m about to say how I can’t wait to sink into her sweet pussy when the buzz of the door intercom slices through the apartment.

I groan and she giggles. “The universe is full of damn cockblockers.”

“You expecting someone?” Peyton asks.

“Nope.”

The buzzer sounds again. Everyone I know has the code to the downstairs door, so they can come up and wait outside my apartment until I let them in. Whoever’s buzzing must be someone who hasn’t been here before. Maybe a delivery guy.

I step back reluctantly, dragging a hand through my still damp hair. “I’ll get it.”

Grabbing some clothes from my room, I pull them on and shove my feet into shoes before heading downstairs. By the time I reach the bottom, I’ve decided I’m installing a camera outside. The solid metal door doesn’t have a window, and I’m done coming all the way down here without knowing who’s waiting on the other side.

I yank the door open, ready to rip someone a new asshole for interrupting us. The anger dies in my throat. My heart slams hard against my ribs, then seems to forget what the fuck it’s supposed to do.

Livia.

My baby sister is here. And she’s alive. Not dead in a crack house or a ditch somewhere.

For a stretched out moment, my brain doesn’t fully process what I’m seeing. Every thought in my head scatters as I grip the edge of the door, staring at Livia. She looks smaller than I remember, shoulders hunched inside a worn purple cardigan that hangs off her frame. Her blonde hair is pulled back and her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. She looks like she’s fallen straight through the cracks of the world.

“Ollie,” she gets out before breaking into uncontrollable sobs.