🔥 Bonus Chapter: “Move-In Day”

Practice Girlfriend — An Exclusive Scene

by Aurora North

A move-in-day scene TOO HOT for Amazon.

Move-In Day

The last box was labeled GARY.

“You labeled the sourdough starter,” Lexi said, holding it at arm’s length like it might detonate.

“Gary is a living organism. He needed proper identification for the move.”

“Gary is a jar of fermented flour paste.”

“Gary is a member of this household and I will not tolerate disrespect in his new home.”

Lexi set Gary on the kitchen counter—his designated spot, negotiated during the Flannel Accords and ratified during the Great Bookshelf Compromise of October—and looked around the apartment.

Their apartment.

Not Lexi’s apartment with Hannah’s stuff in it. Not a temporary arrangement or a trial run or a practice cohabitation. Their apartment, jointly leased, both names on the mailbox, the key ring Hannah had been carrying for three months now officially the only set she needed.

The place was chaos. Boxes everywhere. Books spilled from open cartons. Bubble wrap littered the floor. The Van Gogh print leaned against the bedroom door, waiting to be hung.

Hannah stood in the middle of it, wearing leggings and one of Lexi’s old tank tops, her hair in a messy bun secured with a pencil she’d forgotten was there. She was sweaty and dusty and her glasses were smudged and she looked, Lexi thought, like the most beautiful disaster in the history of residential relocation.

“We did it,” Hannah said.

“We did it.” Lexi crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Hannah from behind, chin on her shoulder. “You officially live here. No more driving home at midnight. No more forgetting your charger.”

“We should unpack,” Hannah said.

“We should.”

“The kitchen boxes need to go first. And the bathroom. And I need to figure out where my books are going to—”

“Hannah.” Lexi’s mouth was against her ear now, her breath warm, her voice dropping into the register that made Hannah’s knees unreliable. “We have the rest of our lives to unpack.”

“That’s… technically true.”

“And right now, I want to do something I’ve been thinking about since the movers left.”

“What?”

Lexi’s hands slid from Hannah’s waist to her hips. Thumbs pressing into the hollows above the hip bones—their spot, the touch that had started everything.

“I want to christen our apartment,” Lexi murmured. “Every room. Every surface. Starting with this kitchen counter.”

“The movers left forty minutes ago.”

“Forty minutes of wasted time.” Lexi’s teeth grazed the spot behind Hannah’s ear and Hannah’s entire body shuddered. “We have a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom. That’s four rooms.”

Lexi lifted her onto the counter. One smooth motion—hands under her thighs, Hannah’s ass landing on the cool granite with a gasp. The counter was the perfect height—Lexi standing between her legs, their faces level.

Lexi pulled Hannah’s tank top over her head. No bra underneath. Hannah’s bare breasts met the cool kitchen air and her nipples tightened instantly.

“God,” Lexi breathed. “I will never get tired of looking at you.”

“You see me naked every day.”

“And every day I can’t believe it.” Lexi bent and kissed the center of her chest, right over her heart. Then lower, mouth finding her nipple and closing around it, tongue circling, and Hannah’s hands flew to Lexi’s hair.

While her mouth worked Hannah’s breasts, her hands stripped off the leggings and underwear in one efficient motion. Hannah was naked on the kitchen counter, and Lexi was kneeling on the tile floor between her legs.

“Rule one of the christening,” Lexi said, pressing a kiss to Hannah’s inner thigh. “You have to be loud enough that every room hears you.”

She pressed her mouth between Hannah’s legs. No preamble. Direct, firm, her tongue flat against Hannah’s clit.

“FUCK—” Hannah’s head fell back. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white against granite.

Lexi worked her with ruthless precision. Two fingers slid inside. Curled. Found the spot. And the dual assault had Hannah climbing in under a minute.

“Come on my kitchen counter,” Lexi said, and the possessive emphasis pushed Hannah over the edge.

She came loud. Louder than necessary, because Lexi had asked her to set the bar and Hannah Price was an overachiever.

“Room one,” Lexi said, standing. “Christened.”

Lexi carried her to the couch—the sacred couch, transported from its old position because some furniture held history. She crossed to the bedroom and came back with the harness and the toy they’d bought together three weeks ago.

“Here?” Hannah asked. “On the couch?”

“On the couch. Where everything started.” Lexi stripped and stepped into the harness. “I want to be inside you on this couch.”

She kissed Hannah first. Deep, slow, tasting like Hannah herself. Hannah wrapped her arms around Lexi’s neck and pulled her down, and they kissed the way they’d kissed the first time—hungry, unhurried.

The toy pressed against Hannah’s entrance—slick, warm. Lexi pressed forward. The stretch was familiar now—the initial fullness, the adjustment, the moment where sensation shifted from pressure to yes.

“Move,” Hannah breathed.

Lexi moved. Slow, deep strokes, her hips rolling in their rhythm. The base of the harness pressed against her own clit with each thrust.

“Faster.”

Hannah’s hands found the arm of the couch and gripped, bracing. The angle changed—deeper, the toy pressing against the spot that made Hannah cry out.

“You’re so good,” Lexi panted. “You take me so well. You sound so good—”

“I’m going to come—”

“Come. Right here, on this couch, in our home. Come for me.”

Hannah shattered. She screamed Lexi’s name in their living room and didn’t apologize. Lexi followed her over the edge two thrusts later, collapsing onto Hannah’s chest, shaking.

“Room two,” Lexi mumbled into Hannah’s neck. “Christened.”

The bathroom was quick and urgent—Lexi pressing Hannah against the tile wall of the shower, hot water running, steam filling the room, her hand between Hannah’s legs and her mouth on her neck. Hannah came in three minutes, then dropped to her knees on the wet tile and returned the favor—Lexi braced against the wall, water streaming down her back.

“Room three,” Hannah said from her knees, looking up with a smile that was equal parts angelic and obscene. “Christened.”

The bedroom was last. The right room for last—the room where they’d sleep every night, the room that would hold more of their life than any other.

“This one’s different,” Lexi said, stretching out beside her on the new sateen sheets.

“Different how?”

“The kitchen was fun. The couch was hot. The shower was ridiculous. This one is ours. This is where we live.”

They made love in the bedroom. Not the frantic, christening-the-surfaces love of the other rooms—the real kind. Slow. Face-to-face. Hannah’s legs wrapped around Lexi’s waist, Lexi moving inside her with the toy, their foreheads pressed together, eyes open.

“Stay with me,” Lexi whispered. The old words. The first words.

“I’m right here,” Hannah whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They came together this time. Simultaneous, their bodies speaking a language they’d spent months learning and now spoke fluently.

After, they lay in the wrecked sheets.

“All four rooms,” Lexi said. “Done.”

“We forgot the closet.”

“The closet isn’t a room.”

“It has a door and a light fixture.”

“The closet can wait. We have time.”

“We have time,” Hannah agreed.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Megan: How’s the first night in the new place?

Hannah: Perfect. We christened every room.

Megan: I didn’t need to know that.

Hannah: You asked.

Megan: I’m hanging up. This is a text conversation and I’m hanging up.

Hannah set the phone down. Pressed back into Lexi’s warmth.

“Megan says no returns,” she murmured.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Lexi kissed the back of her neck. “Welcome home, Hannah.”

“Welcome home, Lexi.”

The apartment settled around them—boxes still unpacked, Gary bubbling on the counter, the Van Gogh waiting to be hung—and outside the window, the city hummed its familiar, ongoing song.

Home.

Not practice. Not temporary.

Home.

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