Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
We’re so close that I’m unavoidably attuned to him. To how his heartbeat accelerates. To the tightening of his muscles around me. To the way his breathing speeds to match mine, ragged and rough and fanning over our lips. If I move even a centimeter, we’ll be kissing. So close, if I lick my lips, I’ll lick his too. I want to taste him again with an intensity I’m not sure I can govern.
“Si.” I push his name out, and my chest rises and falls with upheaving breaths. “Ask me again if I’m sorry you and Vashti broke up.”
His eyes darken, narrow, the long lashes curling and tangling at the corners. “Are you?”
I grip the back of his neck, pull him closer to leave the truth on his lips.
“Hell, no.”
We crash together and our first kiss in years burns from the beginning. His lips are hungry and desperate and familiar. It overpowers me, the you-thought-you-knew-ness of it. The you-had-no-idea of it. The hot novelty of a man I’ve known for so long kissing me with first-time fervor. The taste of him overtakes everything with the speed and intensity of wildfire. I can’t see or hear or even feel. Every sense convenes between our lips, and all I can do is taste the whiskey and want on his tongue.
“Yas,” he expels my name on a labored breath and presses our foreheads together. “We gotta stop.”
“Why?” I drag my lips across the abrasion of his shadowed jaw.
“It’s not a good idea. I can’t…I can’t go there with you again.” The wildness of passion in his eyes is overlaid with resolve and caution.
These old feelings, stirred by alcohol and nostalgia into a witch’s brew, went to our heads, but don’t wash away my mistakes or erase all the ways we’ve hurt each other. I was a fool to think they could. His lips brush my temple for the briefest second before he pushes to his feet and walks across the room. He runs both hands over his face, the kickstand in his pants leaving no doubt that he wanted it as much as I did.
Until he remembered.
The air cools, but my heart still thunders in my chest. My lips throb from the thoroughness of his kiss. I’m still wet between my legs. Shame pools in my belly, and I stand quickly, needing to get away from this and from him.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rushing to the bedroom and closing the door, slumping against it and biting my lip to stifle a scream of frustration. Yes, because my body is humming, revved with nowhere to go, but also frustration with myself for forgetting that I did this. It’s my fault and there is no second chance.
I can’t go there with you again.
I don’t even bother undressing, but slide between the cool sheets wearing my clothes. Turning my head into the pillow, I feel the sting of tears but refuse to let them fall. Not with him in the next room regretting the kiss that breathed so much life into me. I’m kicking myself a thousand different ways when a noise at the door stops me. I turn onto my back, easing up onto my elbows to watch Josiah’s imposing frame fill the doorway.
“Once,” he says, his voice hoarse but controlled, eyes hot and unwavering. “We do this once, get it out of our systems, and forget this night happened. That’s the only way it works.”
Can I do that? Can I live with having him just one more time, knowing I’ll probably always want him? With the promise of pleasure we’ve always found together, my body screams yes. My mind and my heart ask if I’m sure. I hurt him. I know that, but does he have any idea how much he could hurt me? That if I give him my body, my heart can’t help but follow? I wish we’d talked sooner. Wish we’d gone to therapy. Wish I’d found the right therapist, the right meds, the right everything in time. It would have made a world of difference. Maybe it would have saved us, but none of those things happened and this is all that’s left.
His body, tonight and no more.
I’ll take it.
I sit up, sheets pooling around my waist, then pull the T-shirt over my head. He’s always loved my breasts, so I take my time showing him. I reach behind my back, unlatching my bra. His eyes flare in the lamplight as the straps slither down my arms and my hard nipples come into view. His sharp, indrawn breath fills the room. I push the covers away from my legs and tug my pants down, past my knees and over my feet. When I toss them to a corner, he crosses the room to tower over me. I crane my neck back to look up at him, fingers twitching at my sides with the need to strip him and explore every hard muscle and the warm skin hidden beneath his clothes. Before he can start talking, rationalizing, laying out conditions or changing our minds, I reach for him.