She lifts the mini bottle. “Here’s to being a big shot and having your own room.” She drains the rest of the tequila and wanders to the window, pulling the curtain aside to peer out at the view. I can’t stop looking at her—at her perfect nipples peaked against the thin white cotton of her bra, her bare legs, her toenails painted a dark purple. I wouldn’t have imagined she could be more beautiful. If she’d asked, I would’ve told her not to lose the weight, that she was perfect as she was. But now? She stands taller, her chin higher. She wanders around my room nearly nude with a self-confidence that was perhaps the only thing she was missing before. It’s the confidence that makes her shine, gives her thinner, stronger self an edge on the old Shay. I wonder if she knows that. Or if she thinks that when she walks through a room and men stare at her from every direction, it’s because her stomach’s flatter and her hips are narrower.

Slowly, she saunters toward me, her eyes locked with mine. Every step closer steals oxygen from my lungs. I can hardly catch my breath, and I know the only relief will be in touching her. She stops in front of me and swings a foot over my extended legs until she’s straddling my thighs. It would be so easy to bend and press my mouth against her stomach, cup my hand over those pink panties. I could grip her hips and hold her in place while I slide off the chair to the floor between her legs and bury my face in her pussy. I’m dying to taste her again. I want to fill my head with the sounds she makes and the smell of her. Fuck, I want to make her come and claim her as mine in the most primitive way.

“I keep waiting for you to kick me out,” she whispers. Swallowing, she props a knee on either side of my hips and lowers herself onto my lap. The little bottle of tequila is still in one hand, and she wraps the other behind my neck.

“You can stay as long as you want.” When she shifts her hips forward, she presses against the hard length of my cock through my jeans, and my breath rushes out of me.

“You’re killing my newfound ego. You know that, right?”

I arch a brow, curling my fingers into the arms of the chair. “How so?”