He wasn’t going to last long; I could sense it in the way his movements became jerky and the desperate sounds he made. His chest pressed against my back, his lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder.
“Keaton,” he moaned.
“Let go,” I urged him. “Come while you’re deep inside me.”
With a final, powerful thrust, he did, his body shuddering against mine as he found his release. The sensation of him coming undone inside me was enough to send me over the edge again, spilling over my own hand.
We collapsed onto the bed in a heap of tangled limbs and sweat. For a long while, neither of us spoke. I just lay there, my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as it slowly returned to normal. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, and for the first time in over four years, I let myself stop hating him.
17
ROWAN
Keaton was pressed against me,one arm across my stomach and one leg tangled with mine, and for the first time since I’d walked back into his life, we weren’t fighting. No sharp words. No dirty looks. No pushing each other until one of us snapped.
The room had gone quiet, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to pull back, put distance between us, or say something that would ignite another fight, because that was what we’d done since I’d gotten back. We’d circled each other, pushed each other, pissed each other off, and every time things had gotten too real, it had all blown up.
But he didn’t move.
Rather, he stayed close to me, breathing against my chest, his hand resting on me as if it was completely natural. Fighting with him was easier than this. This took me straight back to my childhood bedroom, to nights with him curled up against me while I kissed him like we had all the time in the world. It felt too familiar, and that was what got to me. We’d had something real back then, and I’d let fear ruin it.
I stared at the ceiling and felt every ugly thing I’d been carrying for years rise up all at once because I knew exactly what this was. It was the moment I either finally told the truth or screwed this up all over again.
He shifted slightly, then tilted his chin up to look at me. His hair was a mess, his mouth still kiss-swollen, and I had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss him instead of doing what I needed to do.
“You’re overthinking,” he murmured.
A breath escaped me. “Yeah.”
I wasn’t obsessing because we’d just had sex, and maybe that’s what he thought. Strangely enough, it didn’t feel like a first time. We’d shared too much before for it to feel that way.
His gaze moved over my face. “That bad?”
I let out a quick laugh. “Probably worse.”
He pushed up onto an elbow, and I stayed fixed on his face this time because if I looked anywhere else, I was going to lose the nerve to do this right.
“What is it?” he asked.
I sat up and faced him. “I think if I don’t say this now, I’m going to fuck it up.”
“Say what?” He cocked an eyebrow.
I swallowed hard. “The stuff I should’ve said a long time ago.”
I felt the shift between us. That softer space from a minute ago had tightened into something heavier, but he didn’t move away. He didn’t tell me to stop either.
Sitting there naked with nothing to hide behind, I forced myself to do the one thing I should’ve done years ago. “That night at the party,” I began, grabbing his fingers with mine, “I was horrible to you.”
He held still.
“I’ve spent years replaying it in my head, and every time I do, it gets worse because I know what I should’ve done and what Iactually did.” My throat burned, but I kept going. “I shouldn’t have lied when Ridgway walked in. I should’ve stood next to you. I should’ve told the truth. Instead, I panicked and let you take the fall, and I’ve hated myself for that ever since.”
He turned his head away, and somehow that hurt more than if he’d snapped at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His hand was still on me, but looser now, as if he hadn’t decided whether to stay in the conversation or pull away.
I didn’t blame him.
