Chloe stands in the middle of the room—as close to it as she can get—and looks around. “I can’t believe you kept all this. I thought…I thought my parents came to collect it.”
I remember that day well. It was the second worst day of my life, right after the one where she told me she wasn’t coming back. They showed up on a game day, and though I knew they were coming, I still wasn’t ready to sit there and watch them pack up our life together.
“They did, and they were pissed as hell when I sent them packing.”
Her eyes widen. “You did what? They never told me that. They said it went fine, and we never really spoke of it again.”
I shrug, not the least bit sorry about it, then tuck my hands into my pockets. “I told them to get lost. I mean, I was a lot nicerabout it than that, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let them take all this away and pretend we never happened. Not when I believed you’d come back.”
It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, the first time either of us has acknowledged that I never gave up hope. The room is quiet, and only the soft sounds of Percy’s snores echo through it.
“Look,” I say after a few tense moments, taking a couple of steps toward her. “I’m sure you’re mad at me for telling them to leave after they drove all the way to Chicago from Tennessee, but I just couldn’t, Clover. Okay? I couldn’t. I?—”
My words are cut off by her lips, and I’m so stunned that at first, I don’t move. Chloe is kissing me.She’skissingme. It’s the first time she’s made the first move since she’s been back, and I’m so fucking elated by it that I forget how to function. How to breathe. How to simply exist.
Then she runs her tongue against the seam of my lips, and it all comes flooding back to me. I open for her but take control of the kiss, sliding my hands into her hair and tugging her closer. Her arms go around my neck, and she pulls at me just as hard as I pull at her. We’re pressed so close together, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.
I need more. I needher.
But first, I need to know if we’re on the same page. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being taken to the edge and never fall over it. I wrench my mouth away, and she whimpers at the loss.
“Clover…” I whisper. “Tell me you want this like I do. Tell me you want more. Tell me…”
Tell me you love me still.I want to scream those words out loud, but I can’t.
“I do. I really do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Then I kiss her again, just because I can’t stop. She tastes too sweet, and I know it’s because of that damn soda she loves so much, but I can’t even complain about it. I’d take this over her leaving any day of the week.
“Fuck, I missed this,” I say against her lips between kisses. “I missedyou.”
She pulls back, her lips swollen, eyes glassy like she’s a little drunk. Then slowly, she drops to her knees in front of me, and it’s not until she reaches for my belt that I realize what’s happening.
“Whoa, whoa…” I grab her hands, halting her movement. “You don’t need to do that.”
She looks up at me. “I know, but I want to. I want to show you how much I missed you, Callum.”
CHAPTER 15
CHLOE
His eyes widen, and at first, I worry that maybe I read this situation wrong. Did I mess up? Is this not what he wants right now? Is it…me?
He releases my hands, then nods once. “All right. Then show me.”
It’s all the permission I need. I was tired before he came home, all thanks to Percy, but now I’ve never felt more awake. I make quick work of undoing his belt, then free the button on his pants. My hands are shaking, and every move is jerky, but I’m so eager to prove my words to him that I don’t care.
I missed him, and not just these last nine days either. Over the last three years, I thought of him every minute of every day. I thought of our lazy mornings on his off days, of quiet dinners and every joke we ever shared. I missed my partner, the man I promised so much to. I missed my husband, and I already know that whatever happens next won’t be enough.
I try not to let myself think of that as I push his boxer briefs down and get my first glimpse of my husband’s cock in years. He’s long and thick and just as perfect as I remember, and I cannot wait to taste him. I lean forward, pressing a kiss to hisright thigh, above the tattoo of a polar bear playing hockey. He has many silly tattoos like this, and I couldn’t even begin to count the hours I’ve spent trying to trace each one with my fingertips.
“Shit,” he mutters when I press my lips to his skin again.
I always loved this part of being on my knees for him, teasing him and seeing him looking down at me like he is now. His eyes are dark, almost like a thick maple syrup, and his lips are parted ever so slightly. His cheeks are stained pink, and he’s swallowing hard, like he’s desperate for something to quench his thirst.
