Chapter 64 There’s Nowhere Else I’d Rather Be
“A little.” Maggie tugged the blanket higher. “You?”
“Getting there.” He shifted— arm resting along the back of the couch behind her shoulders.
Maggie leaned into his side— just enough that her head could rest against his shoulder if she wanted. She didn’t— not yet— but the invitation hung between them.
On screen, a mother camel nuzzled her calf. The narrator spoke of maternal bonds lasting years.
Andrew’s voice came low— barely above a whisper. “This is nice. Being here with you.”
Maggie turned her face toward him— cheek brushing his sleeve. “It is?”
"Yes it is."
Their eyes met— close now, inches apart. Andrew’s gaze dropped to her lips— brief, involuntary— then flicked back up. Maggie’s breath hitched.
Andrew swallowed once— visible bob of his throat. “I—”
Maggie didn’t let him finish. She closed the distance— soft, tentative— lips brushing his.
Andrew froze for half a heartbeat— then leaned in, hand sliding to cup her jaw. The kiss deepened— slow, careful, tasting of mint from his gum and the faint vanilla of her lip balm. Maggie sighed against his mouth— small, needy sound— and shifted closer.
Andrew pulled back— just far enough to search her eyes. “Did I…was that okay?”
Maggie’s lids were heavy; her smile was slow, heated. “It’s more than fine.”
She leaned in again— this time sure, hungry. Their mouths met—open, wet, tongues brushing in a slow, exploratory dance. Maggie’s hands found his shoulders— fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt. Andrew’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
The blanket slipped to the floor.
Maggie shifted— back arching— and Andrew followed, guiding her down until she lay flat on the sectional, him braced above her. Their mouths never parted. Her legs parted slightly; he settled between them— weight on his forearms, hips aligning.
Andrew’s fingers skimmed under the hem of her sweater— warm skin, soft curve of her waist. He paused— lips still brushing hers. “Can I?”
Maggie’s breath came short— chest rising and falling fast. “Uh-huh.”
He tugged the sweater up— slow— revealing smooth skin, black lace bra. Maggie lifted her arms; the fabric slid free. She reached for his shirt— pulled it over his head in one impatient motion. His chest was broad, defined— warm under her palms.
She undid his belt— fingers quick, sure. Trousers loosened. Andrew kicked them off— awkward half-laugh against her mouth when they caught on his ankle.
He pulled back — far enough to look at her. Eyes dark, pupils blown. He drank her in— hair fanned across the cushion, lips swollen, chest rising fast.
Maggie reached down— hooked her thumbs in her own waistband— shimmied the leggings and panties off in one motion. They dropped to the floor.
Andrew leaned in again— kissed her slow, deep— then lower. Neck. Collarbone. Between her breasts. Lower still.
Maggie’s fingers threaded into his hair— tugging gently. “Andrew…”
He paused— looked up— eyes locked on hers. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
“I don’t.” Her voice was breathy— certain.
He moved back up— kissed her again— harder this time. One hand slid between her thighs— slow, exploratory. Maggie gasped— back arching— hips lifting into his touch.
Andrew groaned— low, ragged— against her mouth. “You’re so—”
He didn’t finish. He shifted— aligned— pushed in slow, careful. Maggie’s nails dug into his shoulders— sharp, perfect. A soft moan slipped from her throat.
“Mmm…”
Andrew stilled— buried deep— forehead pressed to hers. “You okay?”
Maggie nodded— quick, frantic. “Yes. Continue please.”
He did— slow at first—l ong, deliberate strokes. Maggie’s legs wrapped around his waist—pulling him closer, deeper. Their rhythm built— steady, urgent— couch creaking softly beneath them. The documentary droned on— camels trudging across dunes— forgotten background noise.
Maggie’s breath hitched— higher, faster. “Andrew—”
He kissed her— swallowed the sound— thrust harder. Her fingers tightened in his hair— pulling. His hand slid between them— found the spot that made her gasp— circled.
Maggie’s back bowed— sharp cry muffled against his shoulder. Andrew followed— low groan, hips stuttering— then stilled, buried deep, breathing hard against her neck.
They stayed like that— sweat-slick, hearts hammering— until the world slowly returned.
Andrew lifted his head— kissed her forehead— soft, lingering. “You okay?”
Maggie smiled— lazy, sated— fingers tracing his jaw. “Better than okay.”
He laughed— quiet, breathless— kissed her again— slow this time.
The documentary narrator was explaining how camels could drink 30 gallons in three minutes.
Neither noticed.
After a while, still tangled together on the couch, Maggie whispered— her breath warm against Andrew’s cheek. “You’re not planning to go home tonight, are you?”
“Not unless you want me to,” Andrew said, a gentle smile curving his lips.
“No. Stay with me.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
So they remained on the couch, holding each other close.
Outside, Pullman glittered— quiet, indifferent.
Inside, they stayed— warm, entwined, certain.
And the night stretched on— soft, endless, theirs.