Chapter 8: Summer’s End — All Weekend Long (Finale)

The text from Jake lit up your phone at seven thirty Friday evening, the weekend stretching ahead like an open flame: Parents gone until Monday. I’m yours. All weekend. Pack nothing but that silk robe.

You answered with a single photo—yourself in the midnight robe, untied, standing in the bedroom window with the blinds half-open exactly like the night he’d first watched you. The flash of bare skin, the curve of one breast, the dark triangle between your thighs. His reply came in seconds: On my way.

He arrived with a duffel, the resistance bands from last week, and a bottle of the same whiskey you’d shared on the couch the day the yard was finished. Luna greeted him like a returning hero, tail whipping so hard she nearly knocked over the hall table, then promptly curled up in the hallway outside your bedroom door as if she knew this weekend was sacred.

The moment the front door clicked shut he dropped the bag, pulled you against him, and kissed you like a man who’d been starving for days. Hands everywhere—sliding inside the robe, cupping your ass, lifting you until your legs wrapped around his waist. He carried you straight upstairs to the bed you’d made fresh with crisp white sheets that smelled of lavender and anticipation.

Morning sex began before the sun was fully up. You woke to his mouth on your nipple, warm and wet, tongue circling lazily while two fingers stroked between your folds, already slick from dreams of him. The room was still dim, birds just starting their chorus outside. He rolled you onto your back, settled between your thighs, and pushed in slow and deep—bare, hot, perfect. No rush. Just long, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive inch inside you while his mouth stayed on your breasts, sucking, biting gently, whispering how beautiful you looked in the pale dawn light. You came first, soft and shuddering, legs locked around his waist. He followed with a low groan, spilling deep, holding himself there while he kissed you through the aftershocks.

“Best way to start the day,” he murmured against your lips, still buried inside you.

You spent the next hour tangled, dozing, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin until Luna’s soft whine from the hallway reminded you she needed breakfast. You fed her, then dragged Jake outside in nothing but his black shorts for one last “for old times’ sake” mow. The backyard was perfect—flowers blazing, mulch dark and neat—but he wanted to run the mower along the edges anyway. Shirtless, muscles flexing under the morning sun, sweat already starting to gleam.