“Huh?” I’m in a daze. I’ve rarely felt this blissful.

“You’re smiling at the ceiling. I’m guessing that means I did something right.”

Shifting to my side so I face him, I say, “You know you did.”

The smile he gives me is larger than the sun.

Reflexively, I lean forward and brush my lips against his. I usually try to keep kisses to a minimum when we’re not actively having sex, just to make sure we don’t act like we’re in a relationship, but he looks so good now. So familiar. I can’t help it.

When I move away, Aaron doesn’t let me. Instead, he puts his arms around my back and spins me so I’m on top of him. I can feel his hardening length under me.

He’s unstoppable.

It’s been three weeks since we started sleeping together, and to say it hasn’t been incredible would be a lie. I never thought I could like it this much, yet now, I feel addicted to him. Maybe it would’ve been like this with anyone else, though I doubt it. There’s something about Aaron that makes me feel so at ease to try new things and to express myself.

I’m drowning in him.

But I also try to refrain myself from texting him all the time. If it was only up to me, I’d see him every day, but this could lead to expectations that would then lead us somewhere I don’t want to go, so sometimes I just have to wait until he texts me first.

I usually don’t have to wait long.

Slowly pulling away from my lips, Aaron whispers, “I can’t get enough.” His hands are cupping my butt, calloused fingers against soft skin.

“Likewise.” He’s shown me ways to pleasure I didn’t even know existed.

Suddenly, the bed dips under a new weight at our feet. Spinning off Aaron, I sit up to find Molly now nestled on my bedspread against Aaron’s legs.

Gasping, I tell her, “You know you’re not allowed to get on the bed.” I turn to Aaron. “Did you let her up while I was in the shower?”

He gives me a guilty smile. “Maybe?”

I let myself fall back against pillows. “It’s too late, then. She’ll never take no for an answer anymore.”

“Stubborn like her mother?”

“It’s always run in the family,” I answer truthfully. My mom has the same trait. My grandpa too. Aqidah’s probably the worst of us.

Aaron shifts so his head is propped on his hand. “Is your mom similar to you?”

My gaze shifts to the fan on the ceiling. “In some ways, yes.”

“I wish I could meet her.”