It’s not a question, or an order, just a quiet request wrapped in want.
He keeps an arm around me as we step into the hallway, the others following silently behind.
Eli’s door is shut with a softclick.
The lights are dim, the house hushed except for the faint crackle of the dying fire downstairs.
My dad won’t be home until morning and for some reason, that brings me comfort.
The warmth of Dean’s body seeps through me and by the time we reach my bedroom door, my resolve has completely dissipated to nothing.
He pauses in the doorway, turning me gently to face him.
The shadows catch on the lines of his face, the same one that’s haunted my dreams more times than I can count. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
But then as his thumb brushes lightly over my jaw, I realize with a soft inhale that the past I’ve spent years trying to bury is standing right here in front of me.
And I want it more than anything.
16
GRANT
Noelle’s room smells faintly of pine and, underneath it, the unmistakable musk of sex.
The two scents have tangled themselves together, sweet and sharp, clinging to the sheets, the air, the skin.
Every time I breathe in, it pulls me right back to last night—the weight of bodies moving against each other, the tangle of limbs and the sound of her name leaving all our mouths like a prayer as our pleasure all crashed together.
Across the room, the vent knocks once, the sound a hollow echo, before sighing out a rush of warm air into the small space.
The heat makes the air feel hazy. I lie still, blinking against the soft light leaking through the slats of the blinds.
For a few seconds, I forget where I am. I could almost believe I’m back in my own bed at the ranch, the familiar smell of cedar and coffee lingering in the corner of the room.
Then I move just enough for my shoulder to brush against the cold wall and reality snaps into place.
Right.
Her father’s house.
Suddenly I’m wide awake.
The room feels smaller now, claustrophobic even.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake anyone, and take in the woman in my arms.
Noelle’s chestnut curls are scattered on her pillow like a halo, her face soft and peaceful in a way that makes my throat ache.
She’s lying on her side, facing the window, her hand curled near her mouth, the other tucked under her chin.
There’s a faint flush on her cheeks, the same one that lingered long after her last gasp faded into the dark last night.
She’s tucked close against me, her back warm against my chest.
The soft rhythm of her breathing syncs with mine without even trying.
My arm is curved around her middle, fingers resting just under her sternum where I can feel the faint beats of her heart.
