His pain floods me as if it’s my own.
“What?”
Seriously, what is he talking about? What did his birth mother do? And he has a brother? Why hasn’t anyone ever mentioned that?
Before I can ask any of my rapidly mounting questions, he grabs my cheeks and lowers his face to mine. Possessive and cherishing at the same time. “As much as those things hurt—and some of them nearly destroyed me—I’d relive them all if it meant never losing you.”
The pressure from his confession threatens to suffocate me, cutting off my words. I blindly paw at his hands and forearms, frantically searching for a way to reciprocate the passion of his hold on me and what his words mean.
I need to communicate with my body what I can’t with words.
How does someone respond to something that beautiful and tragic?
My searching hands wrap around his shoulders, allowing me to drag him closer. “Reed,” I whine.
It’s all I can say. Four letters. One syllable.
A wish. A promise.
An anthem.
“Lila, I swear I didn’t lie about what happened. I’m done denying what this is between us.” His heated eyes flay me, but no more than his words. “Icannotgo on for another day pretending I don’t fucking love you. I won’t do it.”
He loves me?
Tears obscure my vision, so I close my eyes and press our lips together. I don’t need to see him to know he’s being truthful.
The only thing I need is to kiss this man.
And so I do.
His lips are warm and supple, beckoning me to drown myself in him. With our mouths fused, our tongues and hands roam greedily. Even our body parts are determined to make up for lost time. I grope his shoulders and arms. His neck. His face. His air. His back. If I had access to it, I’d grab his dick too.
Like he’s a guest in my thoughts, he rasps, “All these years spent not touching you. Tasting you. Pleasing you. All that wasted time.”
Nodding my agreement, I dive back in, kissing him with fervor.
Even though I’m holding him to me with all my might, he isn’t close enough. I can’t stand the idea of anything separating us for another second. Not even air.
There are five long, torturous years to make up for.
Reaching down, I unbuckle my seatbelt and rise onto my knees, preparing to crawl onto his lap. I don’t give a flip if my butt is too big to fit in between him and the steering wheel. I’ll make myself fit. Just like the ugly stepsister with Cinderella’s shoe.
Proving once again that he’s aligned with my thoughts and desires, he releases me to recline his seat and remove his own seatbelt. “Get the fuck over here, cookie.”
“I’m coming.”
“Not yet. But you will soon.”
A nervous giggle jostles my shoulders as I hoist myself over the armrest. Although it’s the furthest thing from graceful, my journey to his lap is quick and effective.
And that’s all that matters right now.
That and plastering ourselves together.
My thighs spread to straddle him, making my shorts ride up. He wastes no time in caressing the newly exposed skin. With a fervent touch, he digs his fingertips into my outer thighs and uses his grip on me to drag me closer.
On the night we shared, he was exceptional at maneuvering my full-figured body into whatever position he wanted. Looks like he’s still able to handle me. I can’t wait to find out what else he can do with me when we have more space. A bed would be nice. However, I’d take the hood of the car at this point.
