Since our spontaneous dry humping session in the city apartment, we had pulled back and kept our desires in check. We shared chaste kisses, light caresses and I even got in some tight snuggles. It was relaxed, carefree, with a certain shyness. As if we were young, reliving those teenage years where we just enjoyed each other.

Although, on the flip side, the sexual tension didn’t abate. If anything, it festered and grew into an uncontrollable monster that I cultivated and fed every time I was in her vicinity, every time she touched my skin. I fucking lived for the charged anticipation. And I wasn’t the only one.

Sometimes, I would catch the blatant lust in Alexis’ eyes as her gaze lingered on my body. And the way her lids drooped in an attempt to hide her desire—fuck, I was a goner.

The waiting elevated our connection to the point where we were both on the verge of snapping.

When the engine cut off, we couldn’t resist any longer.

Alexis slowly leant over the centre console, her nose burying in the base of my neck before her tongue poked out to wet my skin. Goosebumps erupted from her touch, and my mind snapped into overdrive.

I caught her lips with mine, surrendering a groan, which she returned in kind. Hands roamed bodies, trying to pull each other ever closer in the cramped space.

As I buried my fingers in her hair, I took control by tilting her head to the side, giving me access to her smooth, exposed neck. I had the desperate urge to mark her, to make her squirm and writhe out of control.

I sucked and nibbled a trail down her throat, her sighs and gasps alleviating my ravenous hunger if only for a little bit.

My lips tracked up to her ear, my tongue tracing the lines as if her skin was made of candy. And fuck, she may as well have been.

I was addicted to the taste of her. Fucking delicious.

I was so far gone that my next words released of their own accord. “I love you, Alexis. So fucking much it hurts.”

We had both frozen from the declaration. The exact same words I’d said to her the last time we were intimate, the last time we had made love.

I pulled back, gauging her expression, the urgent haze broken from the whispered statement. Alexis didn’t appear pissed. If anything, she seemed reserved, almost hesitant—the complete opposite to the sensual siren who was there a second before.

I shook my head, regret dripping from my very pores. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Alexis gave me a sad smile and whispered back. “I’m sorry too.”

We detangled from each other, and she opened the car door. Before she could leave, Alexis turned and gave me one small glimpse of hope.