He lunges for me, grabbing the back of my neck and pressing his lips to mine. I’m shocked for all of a second before my mind quiets and I return the kiss.
Nothing about this is much different from last time. The issue isn’t now, isn’t tonight. It’s later… when we wake up. Is he going to regret it? Probably. Is it going to hurt? Yeah.
But this is Austen, and I can’t stop myself when it comes to him.
The kiss is frantic. Our hearts are pounding, breathing is heavy. We can’t grip onto each other tightly enough, can’t get close enough. But soon it turns slow and sweet and dare I say loving. I press my forehead to his as we break the kiss.
“I’m tired of being miserable,” he says softly. “I’m tired of my life.”
I’m not really sure what I can say to that. I know what I want to say, but it all feels like way too much too soon. So instead, I lead us to my bed where we do not sleep with space between us. We cuddle together, limbs tangled. And we sleep like that until late afternoon.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Austen
Warmth surrounds me like a fire as I breathe in the scent of sandalwood. My hand slides over a sliver of exposed skin, hard and smooth beneath my palm. His shirt collar brushes against the edge of my lips. I don’t want to move, afraid that when I open my eyes, it’ll all disappear. Again.
But I open them anyway, because I need to know this is real and I’m not imagining it.
I push away from his neck lightly, not wanting to wake him because for one, he looks content as hell, but also because…
He stirs, and I silently curse myself for waking him up. His eyes open wide when he sees me and his entire body stiffens, andI flinch at his reaction. I know what he must be thinking. What he’s waiting for.
Shit, I don’t blame him. The last time we were here, like this… I fucked up. But not this time. This time, I know what to expect.
My hand rests on his chest and I don’t move it. Not at first. I let it sit there, lightly squeezing the fabric of his shirt.
“Hey,” I say, my voice soft, still tinged with sleep. He doesn’t speak, just stares at me with stormy grey eyes that remind me of relaxing thunderstorms.
Like that perfect haze that settles right before it rains.
My gaze holds his as I release his shirt, sliding my hand up his chest, to his neck as my heartbeat beats so fucking loud, I swear it’s echoing in the space around us.
I let my fingers travel over the side of his neck, feeling the hitch in his pulse as I do so. My thumb brushes over his throat, and I don’t miss the intake of his breath. Even after all these years, his response to me touching him hasn’t changed. The last time I did this, I was drunk and therefore I couldn’t appreciate it fully. I knew I liked the way he responded to my touch then, knew that I liked touching him more than I should have. But everything was so rushed, so fast…
My gaze dips to his mouth and his lips part just the slightest.
“Hey,” he whispers, and I can tell he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for me to hurt him.
But I’m not the stupid twenty-one year- old kid who was scared he was going to lose everything, anymore.
Cam’s leg slides between mine and I shift myself closer to him as I let my fingers slide through his hair.
I don’t think twice about pulling him closer and kissing him. His entire body tenses, and I think maybe he’s going to push me away. That I’m being too forward, too clingy, tooneedy.Anxiety swells within me because I’m suddenly worried that I’ve fucked up again and—
Cam’s mouth moves slowly against mine as he kisses me back, his hand sliding across my hip.
A deep groan escapes my throat when he slips his tongue in my mouth, his fingers digging into my hip through my shirt. I don’t stifle my groan because I need him to know how much I like this. I need him to know how much I like kissing him.
And I really, really like it.
Over the last seven years, and even before that, there wasn’t a single man I was attracted to. It’s only Cam who does this to me.
My cock jumps in agreement, which pulls me back to the here and now, and I break our kiss, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” I say as I slide my hand between us, adjusting myself.
Cam chuckles. “Nothing to be sorry about,” he says, his voice smooth and warm.
