Page 33 of Don't Burn Bridges
She laughed softly, still trying to catch her breath. “Barely.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Barely?”
He climbed back over her, his gaze never leaving hers.
She smiled, her fingers sliding into his hair. “Completely.”
“Good answer.” He ground his erection against her mound. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Chapter 16
Seth woke slowly, awareness coming in layers instead of all at once. First, the weight—light but unmistakable, draped against his side. Then the warmth seeping through the sheet and into his skin. A faint whisper of breath followed, soft against his shoulder, and that was what pulled him the rest of the way awake.
He didn’t move right away, only lying there, eyes still closed, letting it sink in. Someone was in his bed. In his space. Close enough that every subtle movement mattered.
Shylo.
His eyes opened, adjusting to the low morning light slipping through the curtains. The room held that early-morning stillness, broken by the faint hum of the fridge in the other room and the occasional creak of the building settling.
She was nestled against him, one arm tucked between them, her hair spread across the pillow, tickling his shoulder. Her scent wrapped around him—clean from their late-night shower, soft and faintly sweet, something he was already starting to recognize.
He’d never woken up with a woman still in his bed before. Maybe in a woman’s bed—but never in his own. He always made sure the night ended long before sunrise, before it carried over into the morning like it meant something.
Keep it light with no complications.
That had always been his mantra.
And yet... he didn’t want her to go.
His gaze drifted over her sleeping face, and memories of the night before surfaced without invitation.
Twice.
Twice he'd lost himself in her.
He'd been with enough women over the years to know good sex when he had it. There'd been chemistry. Attraction. A few unforgettable nights.
Nothing had prepared him for Shylo.
It wasn't just the intensity of it—though every kiss, every touch, and every moment they'd spent tangled together had left him wondering how he'd ever settle for less again. It was the way she'd looked at him, trusted him, and responded to him.
He'd brought her apart in his arms more than once, and each time, it had filled him with a fierce satisfaction he'd never experienced before. Her pleasure hadn't simply turned him on. It had become every bit as important as his own.
That was new.
So was the feeling that had settled over him afterward as she'd curled against him and fallen asleep in his arms.
For years, sex had been exactly what he'd claimed to want—fun, uncomplicated, and over before anyone started expecting more.
Last night hadn't felt casual for a single second. It had felt like two people discovering something they'd both been missing.
His hand rested at her side, his thumb tracing the curve of her waist beneath the sheet. The contact felt... right. Too right. Something inside him loosened, catching him off guard more than anything else.
He didn’t pull away or rush to move. He stayed there, letting himself take in the quiet connection between them. It was new. And he didn’t hate it.
She shifted, a slight movement that broke the moment. Her hand slid lightly across his chest before she stilled, as though she’d just realized exactly where she was.
He felt the change immediately. The tension that crept into her body. The way her breathing hitched, then picked up enough to notice.
