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Trayvon's bedroom was even better than I expected.
It was cozy, clean, and somehow perfectly him. A rich, earthy smell like cedarwood and fresh linen floated in the air. The dark walls were accented by soft, warm lights, and there were shelves filled with books, sneakers, and little personal touches that made it feel lived in but intentional. A neatly made bed with a soft, dark gray comforter sat against the wall, inviting but not overly done.
"Dang...you actually got some style," I said with a teasing grin, stepping further inside.
Trayvon chuckled behind me. "You thought I lived in a cave or something?"
"Maybe a little," I joked, running my hand across his dresser where a few cologne bottles sat lined up like trophies.
He came up behind me and poked my side, making me yelp and spin around to swat at him. "Boy, don't start something you can't finish!" I warned, laughing.
Trayvon grinned wide, all dimples and mischief, and before I knew it, he tackled me gently onto the bed. I let out a squeaky laugh as we tumbled onto the soft mattress, landing with him hovering over me, both of us breathless and grinning.
"You were saying?" he teased, his voice low and playful.
I shoved at his chest, but he didn't budge. Instead, he dipped down and started peppering kisses along my jawline, making my skin erupt in goosebumps. My laughter turned into something softer, more breathless, the air between us thickening.
I curled my fingers into his shirt, tugging him closer without even thinking. Trayvon's kisses slowed down, growing deeper, more intentional. His hand brushed against my side, his touch light but firm, and my heart thudded so loud I swore he could hear it.
I felt his breath against my lips when he paused, our noses brushing. His dark eyes searched mine, asking a question without words. I answered by closing the gap between us, pulling him into a kiss that was slow and warm and hungry all at once.
His hand slid up my back, cradling me closer, and I let myself melt into him. It was easy to forget everything else—where we were, how late it was, anything outside of the warmth growing between us.
Just as Trayvon's hand brushed under the hem of my shirt, my phone started buzzing violently against my leg.
We both froze, breathing heavy.
I groaned against his chest. "You've gotta be kidding me," I muttered, reluctantly pulling back to fish my phone out of my pocket. Trayvon leaned back onto his elbows, watching me with a lazy, amused smile.
When I saw the caller ID, my stomach flipped a little. "It's my mom."
Trayvon chuckled under his breath and ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to cool himself off. "You better answer that before she comes through the door herself."
