“Wh-what did it say?”
“That most of the time, they’re unable to identify what caused it. You can’t always blame genetics.”
All I can do is hum in response.
“It’s why you should stop blaming yourself too. You have a right to feel disappointed about the challenges Quinn might face. But the only thing she got from you is her strength. She forgave Blake the second he apologized, and then proceeded to color an entire stretch of cardboard grass purple. And when you saw her sad in the parking lot, it was because we came looking for you and couldn’t find you, not because she was upset you didn’t stand up for her.”
“Oh”is all I manage to say back. I keep drawing parallels between Quinn and me. Unfair comparisons when she’s so much younger than I was. I’m also back to dragging Summer down my emotional rabbit hole as I process everything.
“I’m sorry. I keep putting all of this on you.”
“You don’t think I’ve leaned on you? You’ve been there for me too. I’ve never met someone who listens like you do. It’s not a skill all men possess; trust me. I’ve never felt more heard than when I’m opening up to you.”
I swivel my hips to a seated position, grip the edge of her lawn chair, and drag it closer.
“You’re easy to listen to, Summer.” I brush a thumb over her bottom lip, studying it. “Thank you for standing up for her today and for always making sure I’m okay. I never told you this, but you’re the reason I didn’t fall apart that first night we met. You have a way of calming me down that no oneelse has. Even knowing you such a short amount of time, you’ve managed to make me feel like there’s more to me than my disability.”
If we kept to the pattern of last night, I’d kiss her right now and we’d part ways. I’d collapse on my bed and torture myself that she’s two doors down from me. I don’t want to do that tonight.
“You want to?—”
“Come with me.” Summer stands, holding out her hand.
I was going to saywatch a movie, but I thread my fingers through hers, letting her guide me through the house. I’d rather see what she has in mind.
My pulse jumps when I realize she’s aiming for the wide staircase. Thick carpet erases the combined pad of our feet as we ascend them. When we reach the landing, she drags me into the first bedroom on the right.
I’ve been in here hundreds of times before. With very little furniture, it always felt like the most spacious room in this house. Now that I’m being backed up to the guest bed, it reduces to nothing. My focus entirely centers on the woman who just used her free hand to close the door behind us and is now dragging her fingertips over my wrist. We both stare at the spot she touches.
“Do you trust me?”
I don’t have to think about her question before I answer. “Yes.”
Two more steps and my knees buckle against the edge of the mattress.
“Close your eyes then,” she says, slipping off my glasses. They fall shut, hypnotized by the way she presses her lips against the shell of my ear. There’s something sexy about the edge to her voice. A sign she’s drunk on the control she’s taking.
Sound heightens with the loss of sight—the chirp of a cricket, the hum of a distant vehicle, and the whir of a soundmachine down the hall. Noises I’ve learned to notice and filter in a controlled environment. But the soft inhale of breath that’s dancing next to my ear is impossible to miss. It’s all I can focus on.
“Keep your hands on the bed,” she instructs, and I lean back on my palms. Two padded circles fit over my ears and the world goes quiet. I can’t see or hear her with the headphones on. I don’t know what she’s doing or where she is. The drum of my pulse keeps time in my chest, accelerating the longer I sit here waiting.
Space, time, breath, everything centers on the first place she touches. A featherlight sensation traces down my forehead and around my eyes. Over my cheeks and across my jaw. Goosebumps pebble my skin with her fingertips working in circles on my scalp and down the back of my neck. I’m barely breathing by the time she cups my face.
I’ve never been on this end of foreplay before. I’m the one who makes the woman fall apart, not the other way around. But that’s exactly what she’s doing to me, making me fall. The anticipation is agonizing when her hands leave my body.
I normally seek silence, but I want tohearher.
Is she laughing?
Panting?
Is all of this driving her as crazy as it is me?
Her touch returns with the pad of her thumb, skating the bridge of my nose and dropping to my parted lips. I finally get to taste her—a hit of salt and something sweet mixing. She smears the wetness from my tongue, coating my top and bottom lips with it. I want to haul her closer and crush that perfect mouth to mine, and it’s as if she knows that. As if she’s ten steps ahead of every sensation she’s creating, because she’s gone again before I can do anything.
I’m dragging in air like the ascent of a mountain climb.Fighting against nothing but patience and arousal. Anticipation peaking and freefalling when her hands finally ghost beneath the hem of my shirt. My skin is kindling, and her touch is the match. A fire coursing through my veins so hot I’m about to combust.
This isinsane. It’s always been about the explosive finish for me. I’ve never experienced this kind of torture. I’m painfully aware of how vulnerable I feel. How close she is when I’ve promised not to touch her. It’s all I can do not to arch into her hands as they splay and score down my chest. Seeking more. Seekingher.
