Chapter 8: Your Shirt Smells Like Me This Morning, Sweetie
Jules lay back against her pillows, her lips still tingling, hair slightly tousled, her chest rising and falling slowly. Her fingers brushed over the faint red marks Aria left across her skin.
Aria's scent clung to her neck, her jaw, the inside of her thighs — sweet and heated and slightly floral, like her body was made of sunlight and soft hunger.
She didn't want to move. Not yet. Not when Aria was still so close, still panting lightly beside her, flushed and glowing, lips parted like she was tasting the aftershocks of what they just did.
Aria stayed there a moment, cheek resting against Jules' bare shoulder, fingers tracing lazy, meaningless shapes over her stomach. Neither of them spoke. There was no need. The room felt heavier now, wrapped in heat and something softer — something closer to peace than either of them usually touched.
Then Aria murmured, "I'll make you something."
Jules hummed, eyes barely open, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. "Food?"
Aria nodded, pushing herself up gently, hair falling around her like a curtain. "Yeah. You'll need it after… that."
Jules stretched, one arm draping over her, voice low and teasing. "Hmm… yes, I do, sweetie. After all we did… hmmm."
Aria's cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through her chest. "I… I like it," she admitted softly, biting her lip.
Jules chuckled, brushing a finger over Aria's arm. "You like it? Just a little?"
"More than a little," Aria whispered, heart racing.
Mischief lit Jules' eyes. "Good. I like hearing it. Makes me feel… wanted."
"You are wanted," Aria said, voice firmer now, curling back toward her. "By me."
"Mm, that's better," Jules murmured, tugging gently at the hem of Aria's hoodie. "Say it again, and maybe I'll make it worth your while."
Aria shivered, hiding her face in the crook of Jules' neck. "You always know exactly what to say."
"And you always make me want to hear it," Jules said, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. Her hand traced patterns over Aria's back, fingers brushing skin and fabric alike. "Every single time."
Aria smiled, squirming slightly against her. "I could… stay like this forever."
"Forever doesn't sound long enough," Jules replied, voice warm, teasing, and gentle all at once. She pulled Aria closer, letting their bodies settle into a rhythm that wasn't hurried, that didn't need words. "You make it too easy to forget the world out there."
Aria laughed softly against her shoulder. "I like forgetting with you."
"Good," Jules murmured, letting her hand drift lazily down to Aria's hip. "Because I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon."
And for the first time , Aria felt the quiet between them pulse with something like eternity, soft and slow and perfectly theirs.
Before she left the bed, Aria leaned back down and caught Jules' lips again. It wasn't a soft goodbye kiss. It was slow, wet, deep — the kind of kiss that made time freeze.
Their mouths moved in perfect rhythm, tongues brushing lightly before Aria pulled back just a little, lips still touching, a small thread of saliva stretching between them before it broke. Jules reached up like she didn't want to let her go yet, but Aria just beamed and whispered, "Later."
Jules stayed there, watching her.
As Aria walked toward the kitchen, she peeled off the hoodie and her pants, tossing them onto the nearby chair with little care. She didn't want the smell of food clinging to them.
She kicked her socks off too. With her back turned, Jules sat up a little and watched, swallowing hard at the casual sensuality of it all.
Aria moved without thinking — completely unaware of how every motion made Jules bite her lip.
Her skin was flushed and soft from their earlier closeness, and when she reached down to grab something off the floor, Jules could see she wasn't wearing a bra.
She hadn't even realized she slipped into Jules' oversized shirt, the one Jules wore around the apartment, grey and thin with slightly stretched sleeves.
It hit just under her hips, barely covering her panties. The way it hung off her shoulder made Jules swear under her breath.
She wanted to pull her right back into bed. But she knew Aria needed food.
Aria, now fully dressed in just the oversized shirt and a thin pair of panties, opened the fridge and pulled out ingredients. She didn't need to ask what Jules liked. She remembered.
She started with thick slices of brioche bread, dipping them in a mix of egg, vanilla, cinnamon, and cream.
She heated butter on the pan until it foamed and dropped the slices in, letting them crisp up golden brown. She sliced strawberries, sautéed them in maple syrup and a pinch of sea salt until they were glossy and sweet.
She cracked eggs into another pan, over easy just the way Jules liked, and threw a few slices of thick bacon into the oven to roast while she worked. She chopped scallions, whisked cream cheese and herbs into soft scrambled eggs, and plated everything like it mattered.
Jules slipped into the kitchen quietly, bare from the waist up, hair tousled like she'd just rolled out of bed, skin catching the light with a soft, golden glow. She leaned casually against the doorway, eyes fixed on Aria as she moved between the stove and the counter.
"God, you're sexy," Jules murmured, her voice low and teasing.
Aria glanced over her shoulder, spatula in hand, cheeks flushed from the heat. "I'm literally sweating over eggs," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone.
"And still hot," Jules added, stepping closer, letting her warmth brush against Aria as she wrapped her arms around her waist.
Aria didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned back into Jules' embrace, pressing her hands lightly against hers, a small smile curling at the corners of her mouth. She felt that familiar pull, the comfort and thrill of being held, and let herself savor it.
"I'm serious," Jules murmured against her neck. "This is dangerous. Oversized shirt. No bra. Legs out. Cooking breakfast for me like a dream I shouldn't deserve."
"Stop," Aria whispered, smirking. "Let me finish this or we won't eat."
Jules groaned softly, biting Aria's shoulder playfully before stepping back. "Fine. But I'm watching you."
Aria plated everything, pouring two mugs of coffee, and set the table by the window. They ate mostly in silence, only soft murmurs of satisfaction between bites.
Jules moaned around a piece of French toast, licking syrup off her thumb. Aria just smiled, cheeks slightly pink, eyes lowered as she sipped her coffee.
When they were finished, Aria stood and began clearing their plates. Jules stretched in her chair, content.
Aria stood at the sink, water running as she rinsed their plates. Her hips swayed slightly as she moved — just a casual rhythm to her body. She wasn't trying to be sexy. She was just being herself.
Jules watched her. Eyes narrowed. Hunger building again in her chest.
Aria didn't even hear Jules soft footsteps behind her over the sound of the running tap. She was to focused on scrubbing the last plate, her sleeve pushed up, the sponge sliding over porcelain.
Her mind was elsewhere, heavy with thoughts, until she felt two hands slide around her waist — warm, steady, unmistakable.
She didn't even have time to react before lips pressed against her neck, the touch hungry and real.
Jules kiss deepened into a firm, slow suck just below her ear, heat rushing straight through her veins. She gasped softly, the sponge slipping from her fingers into the sink.
"Jules —" Aria's voice cracked somewhere between surprise and need.
Jules didn't pull back. Her lips moved along Aria's skin, leaving damp, open - mouthed kisses that made Aria's breath catch. Her warmth lingered against Aria's throat.
"We just did this…" Aria managed, squirming slightly against her hold, her hands braced on the edge of the counter. "We just — ah —"
Before she could finish, Jules spun her gently but decisively, pressing her back against the counter. The plates clinked behind them as Jules' mouth crashed against hers.
The kiss was rougher than before — deeper, urgent, tongue sliding into Aria's mouth without hesitation. Aria moaned against her lips, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, the other clutching Jules' bare shoulders for balance. Her knees felt weak under the weight of it.
Jules' hand slipped lower, gliding down the smooth plane of Aria's stomach, disappearing beneath the waistband of her underwear with practiced ease. Two fingers found her, already slick. Aria's hips jerked involuntarily, a gasp escaping her mouth even as Jules swallowed them between kiss.
"Jules — hmmm —" she tried to protest, but the sound broke into another moan.
Jules didn't answer. She was watching her now — eyes dark, lips parted, fingers moving slow but deep, reading every motion and breath of Aria's body like a language.
Aria lifted one leg instinctively and hooked it around Jules' waist for leverage, her body arching into her touch. Her breath came in shallow gasps, mouth falling open as her nails dug crescents into Jules' skin.
"This is bad," Aria whispered, voice shaky. "We talked about this…"
Jules' mouth curved into a small, knowing smirk. "You're not dating anyone," she murmured against her lips. "You're mine. Let me have you."
Aria's head tipped back against the cupboard, her eyes fluttering shut. She couldn't form a reply; her hips were already moving into Jules' hand, chasing for more pressure, her insides clenching around her fingers.
"You're dripping," Jules whispered, her tone low, dark, teasing. "You wanted this… didn't you, sweetheart?"
Aria whimpered, nodding, head falling back as her leg tightened around Jules.
Jules angled her fingers just right and Aria cried out. Her body shook, thighs tensing, and when she came, it gushed — hot, intense, messy.
Jules didn't stop. She pulled her fingers from Aria for only a moment before lifting her fully onto the counter, spreading her legs wider. Her lips met Aria's again, hungry and deep, while one hand gripped Aria's thigh, the other sliding back down between her legs.
Aria's lips were swollen, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her words barely more than a breath.
"Jules… more. Please —" Aria whispered, urgency threading through each syllable.
*******************
Morning wore her scent like a confession,
fabric learned the shape of want and kept it.
Heat lingered in rooms that should have cooled,
as if touch had rewritten the rules of leaving.
But hunger doesn't sleep when light arrives.
It waits in doorways, in running water, in breath.
What felt like comfort sharpened into gravity —
and the house remembered how to pull her back.