“Of course.” Giving my hand a parting squeeze, she severs our contact, reopening her reading material and curling back up against the pillows. I move to my side of the bed and pull out my phone, eyes nearly bugging out of my head when I see I have 247 unread texts in the group chat. I don’t bother scrolling to the top, typing out a quick message to the guys.

HD: What’s up?

NR: Well, well, well. Look who woke up from the dead.

PW: H! It’s about time we heard from you.

JL: I swear to God if you don’t have something interesting to tell us, I’m chucking my phone out of the window.

HD: Sorry, been distracted. Family stuff. Invasive questions. Kissing Emma.

NR: ??!?!??!?!?!

JL: You can’t say that then stop talking, you bastard.

NL: We need details!

PW: Who the fuck do you think you are slipping that in all casually?!

NR: Why? How long? Tongue? No tongue?

JL: Was it good?

HD: Nope.

PW: Yikes.

HD: Better.

NR: My man!

HD: I’ll share more soon, but we had a talk. And I’m going to give this relationship thing a try.

NR: Thank fuck. Only took you, what, 15 years?

PW: Try 17, Noah. It’s about time.

JL: Anyone else want to cry? My eyes are watering.

PW: Look at our boy. All grown up.

NL: It’s not bad, H. Assume she’s always right and you’ll be fine.

HD: Thanks for the advice. Gotta go. Text soon.

Five more messages roll in, but I ignore them, chuckling as I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and click it off. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Emma fidgeting. Her legs shift under the covers, brushing against mine. She lets out a soft “oh.” Intrigued, I turn on my side, watching her read.

Finding nothing amiss, I frown, until—there. Her grip on the spine of the book tightens fractionally. It’s such an infinitesimal movement, if I had blinked, I would’ve missed it.

But I didn’t. And now I’m curious.

“You’re restless,” I say, understanding her body language.

Emma doesn’t acknowledge me, but the blush staining her cheeks validates my observation. I allow myself precisely one second to wonder if the rest of her body matches her neck—what would her ass look like when it turned the same shade, an outline of my palm stark against the cherry hue?

Biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood, I stomp down on the thought, shoving it aside and ignoring the twitch of my dick at the image of her on all fours, bared to me, cheeks in the air and a sob tearing through her throat.

“I’m fine,” she answers. The pitch is higher than her usual tone.

Fine, my ass.