He’s telling me he doesn’t need me, but all I hear is:save me.
I do the one thing I promised him was a one-time thing. I close the space between, lift to my toes, and wrap my arms around his neck to close the space between our mouths.
You can’t push me away.
I need you.
Don’t do this.
By the way he suddenly drops my bag, I assume he gets my message loud and clear. He grabs my waist and hoists me tohim, walking us back the few steps it takes until my body thuds against the door. And then he kisses me.
His tongue sweeps against mine, and holy hell, does he know how to kiss. I convince myself that this is all for him, but it’s for me just as much. We’ve shared things. There are strings here that can’t easily be cut.
His lips move against me in a rhythm similar to my heartbeat, hard and quick. It’s better than Lucy’s. There’s conviction behind his kisses tonight. But we’re caving to the other, slipping into the warmth, taste, and feel of our bodies touching just like we did that night. His body molds to mine in a way that makes me think we should’ve done this sooner. A soft moan rumbles up my throat when his thumbs press into my cheeks. Our mouths, like puppets without masters, work of their own accord, and it sparks tiny electrical tingles down to my toes.
My hands are on his neck, then his cheeks, his stubble cutting into my palms. It lights me up all over, my body humming with a current stronger than any I’ve ever felt.
Being pissed at him trying to push me away? Not anymore. Sad over what he’s had to deal with growing up? Not a thought in my mind about it.
Up against the door, we’re as close as we can possibly be. That is, until a hand moves down my body and wraps around to my ass, lifting me. My legs wrap around his waist effortlessly, and that hand, delicate but hungry, trails under my thigh, moving around until it’s kneading my ass.
My lower belly tightens with need, and for the first time since Webber, I want to strip out of my clothes and have a man’s bare hands touch me all over. God. If this is how incredible it is to have our mouths connected, I can’t imagine what more would feel like.
His enticing lips dance across my skin, fingertips nipping into my waist and everywhere else.
His body presses into mine, claiming my body heat as his own.
Then all too soon, he slows. I unravel my legs, my feet hovering for a beat before flattening on the carpeted floor. Our kisses come to a gradual pause, and he presses his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling and dancing and holding hands in the tight space. His hands hold my hips steady.
I don’t want to break away from this ethereal moment, and maybe he doesn’t either, judging by the fact that he has yet to move.
“I’m a liar,” I whisper, my lips swollen from his. “I meant it when I said Lucy’s was a one-time thing, but what I didn’t tell you was that I’ve thought about doing it again since then.”
“If this,” his hands squeeze my waist, “is what I get when you lie to me, you can lie to me all the time, Violet.”
My heart in a chokehold, I run my hands up his arms, beginning at his forearms. I hold on just in case he pulls away. “Promise me that you won’t push me away. I know things are messed up, but let’s face it, you need me as much as I need you.”
“You think I need you?”
“Even if you don’t want to accept it. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”
“I’m still standing,” is his reply.
Moving my hands to his neck, I breathe him in. There’s no cologne clinging to his skin. His scent is natural. Just him and the gentle aroma that enveloped him before.
“But wouldn’t you rather have someone standing next to you?”
He pulls away, and when he opens his eyes, they’re much clearer than they were minutes ago.
“Thing is, you don’t find roses in sludge, Vi.”
I reach up and trace his earlobe with the pad of my thumb. “No one said you have to go looking. Not when the rose is me.”
“I can’t have you regret me.”
“I could never regret you.”
How could I when you’ve given me so much in such a short time?
