He was kissing me.
It took my mind a second to catch up to what was happening. Then I kissed him back. My lips moved with his. It was like we were hungry for each other. Starving after depriving ourselves of this intimacy. Except it wasn’t supposed to be intimate. It had to be just physical. So we could move on.
There was depth in the way his tongue danced with mine, the way his hands caressed my skin as they slid down my back. Forgetting the reasons why I started this in the first place, I pushed up onto my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck, wanting to be closer, wanting more of that deep feeling from him.
His hands went to the backs of my thighs and lifted me. Without breaking our kiss, he carried me over to the bed and laid me gently on my back. I reached for his pants again and managed to pull down his zipper completely before his mouth left mine.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he said, a little breathless.
“Then why did you kiss me?”
“To make you stop talking.” He exhaled heavily with his eyes closed. “And because I wanted to kiss you.” When he opened them again, he reached for the lounge set I had tossed on the bed prior to walking over to him. He shook them out, seeing only two pieces. “Where’s your underwear?”
“I didn’t want to wear any.”
“You’re trying to fucking kill me,” he grumbled as he tossed the shirt back on the bed and knelt to put my feet into my pants.
As he pulled the pants up my legs, I decided to be nice and lift my hips to help him finish putting them on.
Once he was done with that, he set his hands on either side of my head on the bed. His eyes glided all over me beneath him. He let out a groan before he brought his mouth back to mine. His kiss this time was messy, uncontrolled, frantic. He wanted me badly, desperately. Knowing that was enough to make me ache for him. Every inch of me.
“Please,” I begged when he managed to break away from me.
“Don’t beg,” he pleaded, closing his eyes again. His brow furrowed as if in pain. “I want to fuck you, but I don’tjustwant to fuck you.” He opened his eyes as he grabbed my shirt from the bed and took a step back. “I don’t want you out of my system.”
I sat up and let him put my shirt on me. “And when you three leave?”
“There’s no leaving you, don’t you get that?” he said.
“Why?”
“Fucking Roe.” He shook his head. “He may have brought you into our lives, but you made us fall for you.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked with a racing heart.
His eyes met mine. “You know exactly what it means. Figure out how to handle it and stop torturing Roe and Wyatt.”
Do I?My racing heart seemed to. “Does that mean I get to keep torturing you?” It was a challenge and a deflection.
“You’ve been torturing me from day one.” He grabbed my chin and kissed me one last time before he stalked out.
I sat there listening to him go through the front door and drive off on his motorcycle. I got up and began pacing.
When the thoughts, the questions, began to be too much, I grabbed shoes from my closet, sent a text to Bram telling him that I was going to Roe’s, and left.
I tried not to think as I drove, which was probably why I couldn’t remember most of the drive to Roe’s house. His motorcycle was parked in the driveway, but Wyatt’s car was gone. Then I remembered Wyatt was working today.
I knocked on the front door and shifted my weight from one foot to the other nervously.
The door opened, revealing Roe in nothing more than black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His chest and tattoos were on full display. He looked me up and down. I didn’t know what he saw on my face. I was refusing to think, so I wasn’t being careful about my expression.
He silently stepped back, a gesture for me to come in. With zero thoughts I walked in, set my keys on the coffee table, and just stood in his living room.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he closed the door.
I spun around to face him. “Do you love me?”
For a moment he was surprised. Then he recovered, looking sure of himself. “Yes.”
