I peek open an eye just enough to notice the room is still veiled in darkness, but the sun is beginning to crest above the horizon. A soft bluish hue seeps through the blinds, gently illuminating the space. As I fully open my eyes, I find a baseball mitt resting on the nightstand and a Luke Skywalker action figure staring at me.

I blink again, momentarily forgetting where I am. I reach for my phone to check the time, but as I do, Wells pulls me in closer to him. His chest flush with my shoulders, his stomach to the small of my back, our knees tucked together.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, husky with sleep. His arm encircles my waist, drawing me closer to him. I wiggle my body against his, reveling in how deliciously perfect this all feels.

I feel him hard against me, pressing into the curve of my ass and warmth spreads through my body. I push back into him, shimmying, trying to get closer. He grunts, as if it's physically painful, and a sleepy smile tugs at my lips.

"Fuck, Juniper," his arm around my waist tightens briefly before loosening. Slowly moving down, he slips his hand under the hem of my shirt and grips me where my underwear hugs my hips. He uses the leverage to pull my hips back into him, nudging harder, rolling into me.

This time I'm the one to let out a whimper.

My hand reaches up and twists into his wavy hair as he presses delicate, feather-light kisses along my shoulder. We keep this rhythm up, him rolling into me and me shifting back into him. To the point that I'm wide awake. Not just waking up, but fully alert, panting for breath, and a bit sweaty.

The hand gripping my hip relaxes and glides down gently, tracing once along my stomach, and then slipping it under the fabric of my underwear. He glides his fingers between me and we both groan when he feels how wet I am.

"Can I—" I hear him swallow, his voice still sleepy and rough, "Can I taste you?"

My thighs clench around his hand, at the question. A little taken aback, unable to find the right words to express myself because, yes, I do want that very much, but I wasn't exactly expecting it.

Not that I enjoy dwelling on Beckett at all, but during those two years we were together, I can count on one hand the number of times he ate me out. Apparently, in his mind, a blow job wasn't the same as going down on me.

I used to ask, but he'd always give me the hardest time about it, so I quickly stopped. And truthfully, he wasn't even all that great at it anyway, and I never actually came from his mouth on me.

"Do you, um," I begin, swallowing hard, "do you want to do that?"

"Do what?"

"I mean, you want to... You like to, um—"

"Taste you?"

"Yeah."

He pauses for a long moment and then huffs a laugh into the shell of my ear.

Oh god. My cheeks flush, and I bring the hand that was in his hair, up to cover my eyes, feeling embarrassed. He's probably just being nice; he doesn't actually want to go down there, I'm sure of it.

He kisses my shoulder. "Juniper, I've been dreaming about going down on you since the moment I kissed you. Of course, I fucking want to."

"Oh."

"Is that something you want?"

"Yes." I clear my throat. "Yes, I want that."

He wastes no time tossing the sheet aside and maneuvering himself down on the mattress, settling in between my legs. He finds himself there so quickly, that I almost laugh. There's definitely a smile plastered on my face because of it.

I watch him, perched on his knees as he takes me in. His hair is a tousled mess, one side plastered to his face from sleep, his green eyes brighter now that the sun is peaking through the blinds, and his hands work kneading my thighs.

His eyes trace over the NYU shirt I'm wearing, where my nipples peak through the thin material, all the way to the lilac-colored lacey underwear I have on. His gaze fixates there as he wraps his hands around my ankle, urging my legs wider.

"I like these," he murmurs, toying with the waistband of the lace.

"I had a feeling you might," I whisper, meeting his gaze as a half-smile curves on his lips. He leans down pressing a light kiss, right over the middle of them. Everything in me pulls taut and my hips lift into the motion.

His hands slide up my thighs, reaching for the hem of my shirt, and as he slowly gathers it up and over me, his fingers sliding over my skin, sending goosebumps across every inch of skin he touches. Pulling it off of me, he tosses it to the floor before reaching and tugging at my underwear. He comes back, brushes a kiss against the inside of my knee, slowly working his way up.

He kisses everywhere. Right where my leg meets my hips. The inside of my thighs. The skin below my belly button. He kisses everywhere but the place I need him most.

"Wells, please," I murmur in frustration, subtle shifting underneath him.

He lets out a low hum against me. "I like teasing you though. Watching you squirm."

"I don't want to be teased any—"

Oh. Oh. Oh God. I jolt in surprise and my breath hitches as his tongue melts against me, silky smooth and white hot. I tilt my head into his plaid pillow to keep myself from crying out.

"Oh god, Wells." I breathe out as one hand fists into his hair and I inadvertently grind myself against his mouth.

It's been just a week without him. Six days, and my god, I've missed this. I've missed him. I've missed him. The way he knows my body, knows me, even without a single exchange in words. How can I ever go back to the way things were after this is all over?

My other hand clenches into a tight fist, gripping at the sheets. A moan chokes out of me and my back arches up off the mattress again, my thighs squeezing his head. I squirm on the bed as he runs his tongue around me. I'm entirely under his control because I'm fairly certain I'm having an out-of-body experience.

He stops suddenly and a garbled sound twists through me. My eyes clench tight as the throbbing between my thighs builds.

"Fuck, Juniper," He murmurs.

"Please don't stop," I plea, my words strained through gritted teeth.

"I could come just like this. " I blink down at him from his position between my legs. "Just from hearing you."

Oh.

He presses his mouth to me again, with one long lick, and my whole body tightens.

And then he stops again.

"Wells," I whine.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he says through a chuckle. "No more teasing."

His tongue meets me again. Stroking, sucking, and teasing my clit as he slips one finger and then two inside, finding a perfect pace. I gasp into the pillow as a wave of heat rushes through me, pulling me over and under, melting me into a pool of ecstasy. He keeps his fingers moving in and out, pulling every last bit out of me.

My body goes limp on the mattress, utterly fulfilled and entirely satiated.

"How was that?" he asks, crawling up to me. His hands firmly plant on both sides of my face as he gazes down.

I'm still catching my breath, attempting to regain my composure. I wet my lips, struggling to form a coherent sentence. "That was, um... It was, uh..."

"Speechless, good." He leans down, brushing a kiss on my lips, and I moan when I taste myself on him. "I missed you too by the way," he murmurs against my lips.

My eyes widen slightly, and my face heats up. When I look at him, there's a smirk playing on his lips. Did I say that out loud?

"Wait, where are you going?" I ask as he climbs off of me, heading toward the dresser. I prop myself up, resting on my elbows, watching him. "We aren't done."

He huffs a laugh. "I know we aren't." He shoots me a smirk, shaking his head. "I'm just grabbing a condom."

I remain propped up, captivated by him. I take in all of him. His muscular legs, sturdy chest, the chiseled definition of his abs, all highlighted by the golden sun streaming through the blinds. His body is beautiful.

He peels off his boxer briefs and tears a condom open and I watch as his biceps flex as he rolls it on his length.

When he returns, the mattress dips under his weight as he climbs over me. He guides my legs wide and drags his palms up to my stomach until I'm lying back flat on the mattress again. A strand of hair spills over his forehead, and I gently sweep it back with the palm of my hand.

He smiles down at me, and it wraps around me, sending warm honey spilling down my limbs.

I reach for his neck, pulling him closer, kissing the brackets on the sides of his lips—my favorite part of him. He drags his mouth across my cheekbone and then up to my lips, brushing them against mine, sweeping his tongue into my mouth, before working his way down.

He presses his lips between my breasts, dragging it over and up until he catches my nipple between his teeth. He sucks and pulls until I'm arching up off the sheets.

And then he steals the breath right out of me as he slowly presses his thick heat between my legs. I feel so deliciously full as he settles inside of me. A moan hiccups out of me as a groan slips from his chest.

Wells slides his hand above me to tangle with mine, pressing both of my wrists into the mattress, the other hand plants above me on his headboard. He thrusts his hips into me, again and again and again, pushing me up the bed.

I feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my chest, infused into my bloodstream—Wells is everywhere.

"Fuck" he mumbles in my ear, his voice raspy and low. "Fuck, Juniper, you feel so—"

"Good," I finish on a laugh, but it catches in the back of my throat as his hips shift harder against me.

He drops his head to my neck and presses hot wet kisses up the column of my throat. My nails dig into his shoulders as my body shivers against his.

"Tell me you're mine," he murmurs against my neck, catching me off guard, his hips shifting against mine. "Even if it's just for a few more weeks."

A few more weeks

My chest squeezes tight with that heart-crushing third-act break-up feeling and I don't like it. I don't like it at all. "Tell me you're mine."

And can feel myself slipping, losing my footing. All those rules I set for myself, all the ones I convinced myself were so important—I'm not sure if they mean as much to me anymore. Because I want this— I want to wake up next to him in the mornings, spoon while we talk before bed, the 'how's your day' text messages, the Saturday night games nights. I want all of it. I want to be his.

"I'm yours," I rasp out.

He braces himself above me, peering directly into my eyes, his gaze locking firmly with mine. He's slanted himself slightly higher up on his knees, and his hips start losing their tact. They're messy and uncoordinated.

"Don't stop," I gasp.

"Juniper," he rasps out as he reaches in between us, his thumbs rubbing hard perfect circles.

I feel myself unraveling, coming undone at the seams. I take in a deep breath, attempting to fill my lungs with air. And everything in me tilts sideways as my orgasm licks down my spine, warmth spreading through me.

A groan leaves Wells's chest as his whole body falls forward. He holds me tight against him as his hips rock messily into me until his thrusts slowly come to a stop.

He collapses onto me, heaving breaths, hair damp with sweat, face nestled in the curve of my neck. Little quakes still rippling through me. I enfold myself around him, my ankles gently hooking over his.

"Mine," he whispers.

"Yours," I breathe out.

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