“You can stretch out, you know,” he says, patting my ankle.
A smile plays on my lips, and I decide to do just that. This is how we spend every TV night together. This is how things first spun out of control. His arms are draped over my calves, and before long, his fingers are brushing against my skin.I’m going to miss this.
He nods at the screen. “They really are amazing live.”
“Hell yes.”
“You know they’re coming to town this summer? We should see if we can get tickets.”
“Good idea.”
He’s including me in his plans—that’s a good sign. Something for me to cling on to tomorrow morning, when I head over to the other side of town.
“You might be road-tripping with your roomies by then, though…”
I look up and wrinkle my nose.
His eyes are still latched on the screen. “Your shiny new BFFs.”
“You sound jealous,” I counter, giving him a light kick.
He grabs my foot in midair and sets it back down in his lap. I do it again. And finally, he decides to look me in the eye.
“You’re doing that moody thing again.” I pout. “It’s like backwhen this whole…” I’m stuck on the word. “This whole forced living-together started.”
“Was living here really that bad?” he asks.
My breath catches in my throat. I swallow hard and tug down on my T-shirt. He’s frowning, as if I just said something mean.
“Not always,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “You were a pain in the ass, though.”
“Not always,” he repeats.
It feels like he means something else. He turns back to the television in silence, and I force myself to breathe deep, fighting a growing sense of disappointment. I think back to how low I was when Lane found me there on the stairs, and how little by little, I’ve picked myself up and pieced myself back together without even realizing—all thanks to him. I shift in my seat and swing my knees over to him, placing my hands on my thighs, leaning in to look at him. Slowly, he turns to me.
“What?”
“Thank you.”
I lean forward, coiling my arms around his neck, squeezing him as hard as I can, feeling his body tense in shock, and I could let go, but instead I hang on for dear life, breathing in his smell.
Just when I’m thinking it’s time to let go, just when I’m biting down on disappointment that he hasn’t hugged me back, I feel his hands coming to rest on my sides, and I smile into his neck, before planting a quick kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you for giving me somewhere to call home,” I whisper into his ear.
“No problem.” His voice is hoarse as he pulls back to look at me.
“Can I come over and make pizza every now and then?”
“You can.”
My arms are still slung around his neck, and we stare at each other for a moment without talking. My mom was right. Lane is beautiful. An idea is nudging at the back of my mind, swelling with the achetightening in my belly. I want to kiss him. He’s done way more than that to me, but he hasn’t kissed me again—not once—and my lips are aching for his. I feel a jolt of adrenaline shoot from my throat down to my core. Time freezes. Lane’s gaze drifts over my face, then lingers on my mouth, his breathing heavier. Something flashes between his eyes and mine—so intense it short-circuits my brain. My fingers take on a life of their own as they search for the collar of his T-shirt, and before I have time to tug at the fabric, his mouth crashes into mine.
Finally. It’s the only word echoing in my head as our tongues meet. I hadn’t realized just how much I had missed this, but I hear myself moan, and I cling to him tighter. No more questions—I’m done with all that. I’m not going to think about what we’re doing, and what it means for the future. Tomorrow I’m leaving, and I want to pack this moment away and take it with me.
He tugs on my bottom lip, before pulling back to look at me. Something in his gaze makes my heart ache, and I try my best to etch it to memory. He gently cups my face with one hand, while the other falls to the arch of my lower back, pulling me closer into him. This feels good—so good, that I hoist myself up until I’m straddling him. I bend my knees, guiding him exactly where I want him. Slowly, I start grinding against him, drawing ragged groans out of him, the sound of which send a rush of warmth straight to my core.
There’s hardly any fabric between us, and I can feel every hard inch of him, every twitch of his dick, every pulse of pressure. He grips my hips and answers with urgent thrusts. His mouth is nipping at my jaw, dragging along my throat, leaving hot kisses in his wake. All I wanted was a kiss, but things are spinning out of control. I have absolutely no desire to stop them, though. When my frantic hands yank off his T-shirt, I barely recognize myself. When he pulls mine over my head, I feel myself desperately rising to meet him.
