Slowly, I lay her back on the bed, caging her with my body. My heart beats wildly against my chest. If she only knew the power she wielded over me. How much effort it takes to tether myself to reality when she’s like this, the effort it takes not to lose control.
“Is this still okay?” I whisper against her neck.
“No. I need to feed you. I feel terrible.” She giggles, writhing underneath me.
“Yeah, food isn’t going to satiate what I’m hungry for, Dessy. Even if I love yours.” She shifts again, and I grunt at the friction. “Especially when you do that.”
“What? This?” She moves her hips again in a slow, teasing manner. “Does that do something to you?”
I press my forehead to hers. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here, woman. Help me out.”
“Jack?” She looks up at me, and the stars reflected in her eyes that I’ve desperately missed sucker-punch me with their reappearance. “What if I don’t want a gentleman?”
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Aulie Desfleurs
Play:You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me by the Miracles
Slipping out from under Jack’s looming figure to use the restroom was a mistake. Sure, it was the best call for the integrity of my bladder, having somehow made it through the entire night without waking, but now, as I sheepishly drag my feet back to my bedroom, the minuscule voice of reason I still possess is telling me to run.
Last night, Jack Parker kissed me. For real. With no character to mask the purpose of his lips. No pretense. It was just me, cardigan-wearing Aulie, and the man I’ve had a crush on since I was five—kissing. What’s more, he cuddled with me, and instead of my body sparking alive with electricity, all I felt was a delicious serenity that lulled me into the deepest sleep I’ve had in months.
Maybe years.
And now, here I am, wandering slowly back to my bedroom, where that same man is waiting for me. If the intensity burning in his eyes this morning is any indication, when I pass through that threshold, if I want it, something more than cuddling will transpire between us.
And I do want that.
But I’m also terrified because I haven’t moved beyond the boundary of kissing anyone since Tyler. Not just because I was safe-guarding my heart, but also because, with Tyler, intimacy hurt, like hell.
Like hell.
I don’t know if it was a Tyler-and-me thing or a just me thing, but I’ve been anxious to find out if it’ll be the same with someone else/Jack.
For the last ten years, that part of my body has been a perpetual letdown. For a hopeless romantic like me, I don’t know if I can stomach a reality where intimacy—something glorified by rom-coms and romance novels alike as the pinnacle of a successful relationship—is something I can’t do. I don’t know if I’m ready to accept the fact that I’m broken and there doesn’t seem to be a fix.
Finally, my feet bring me to my bedroom door, and I take a deep breath. At least for today, living in the present and saving my worries for another time might be my best way forward.
The hinges creak as I push the door open. Jack’s shirtless silhouette dominates the space in front of my bookcase, his focus fixed on the pages of a mass paperback. My pulse skitters, drumming loudly in my ears at his figure illuminated in the morning sun.
I love him, rather hopelessly, and broken or not. Whatever he wants to do today, I want to do, too. It’s been too long since I’ve had these sensations spiraling through me, and now that they’re back, I’m addicted.
Being in love, as painful as the outcome might be—and let’s be honest, with Jack, there’s little chance this won’t end badly—is better than having never felt at all.
I was a fool to think depriving my heart would save it. What’s the point of trying to protect something if I never let it live?
“Whatchu’reading?” I smile, coming closer to my destruction.
He glances up, smiling as he rakes a seductive gaze over my body. “A very informational guide, it seems.”
I blush. His stare kickstarts an electric storm that tumbles through my limbs. A wave of excitement crashes into me as a shiver grips my spine.
Thunder snow on the beach.
How is it fair that a single look can overwhelm me with a flood of sensations?
He snaps the book shut and puts it back in my historical collection. “You seem to have a thing for what the back of these books calls the ‘reformed rake.’ Although, I guess you told me that once, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”
