“Are not.”
“Am too.”
“No. But Easton, I don’t want you to think we’re on different levels, or that you’re in a different league than me. It’s not true,” I say with difficulty.
“I know.” He lets go of me and pulls me into an embrace. I sigh in relief as he puts both arms around me, and I immediately feel calmer.
“Really?” I murmur into his shirt. It smells like him, of course, and even though we just argued, even though there are still a lot of things we need to talk about, my body responds to his scent. I hear his heartbeat under my ear, feel his arms around my waist. Warmth is spreading through me, and it’s all wrong.
He should let go of me. I should let go of him. We should let each other go, because I feel horribly weak right now and want to be held by him too much. Far too much.
“Yes.” He sighs, and I feel it in my hair. A pleasant tingle goes down my back. I can’t let go; I’m just not able to. “I’m just... frustrated. And insecure. And annoyed. It was really shitty of me to take that out on you.”
“It was. But I understand you.”
“Really? Because I don’t understand myself.” He laughs softly, and I have to smile. Neither one of us moves. We aren’t letting go.
“Really. Easton... if you don’t want to record the song, it’s okay. It was wrong of me to assume that you would want to.” I look up at him. His hair is in a tangle on his forehead, and I want to smooth it back and find out if it’s as soft as I think.
“It was never about not wanting to,” he says as I stare at his face without meaning to. His thick eyebrows and lashes, and the bluest eyes in the world. Those lips that wanted to kiss me yesterday, that I wanted to kiss too. I would have if I weren’t so scared. He’sso beautiful, and I want to run my fingers over his face, touch his lips... and that’s a real problem.
He takes a deep breath, his chest pressing against mine. We’re definitely too close, but neither of us is backing away.
“It was all about me and my stupid self-doubt. I want us to record that song together.”
The way he saysusmakes my heart beat faster.
“Okay,” I say, wanting to let go of him, because I’m about to do something very, very stupid if he holds me any longer.
“Okay,” he says, and swallows. Something dark and longing flickers in his eyes. He has to let me go right now, or we’ll go up in flames.
But he doesn’t. Instead, his hands caress my face, his fingers warm and a little calloused.
“Rayne,” he whispers, and I don’t think I’ve ever liked my name as much as I do at this moment. No one has ever said it like he does. Soft and deep, as if it were infinitely valuable.
He rests his forehead against mine, his breath caresses my skin, and I can’t think straight anymore. My mind shuts down. He hesitates, surely because of how I backed away yesterday, and I know I should do it again. Really. But I can’t. I forget why I did it yesterday. Instead, I lift my head and pull him closer, just a little, but it’s enough. His lips meet mine, hot and hungry. Not gentle, not careful. My body bursts into flames.We’reburning.
Easton groans, a soft, throaty sound that burrows deep inside me, and I want to hear it again and again. I open my lips and our tongues touch. My knees go soft. I’ve never been kissed like this before. It’s so wild that it almost borders on desperation. It tugs on my heart, and that’s exactly what I was afraid of—what I’m stillafraid of. But my mind isn’t working anymore, and even though I’m afraid, this kiss and him are exactly what I want at this moment.
Everything blurs. There’s just Easton and me, one of his hands on my face, the other wandering down my neck, tilting my head back gently and firmly. My body melts into his, my fingers dig into his hair, his groin presses against mine, heat and desire, longing and hunger. Someone is panting, I don’t know if it’s him or me. It’s probably both of us.
I forget my name, forget who we are and what I was afraid of. I forget everything except us.
For one brief moment.
Chapter 25
Easton
Fuck Up the Friendship—Leah Kate
Rayne feels very small and slim in my arms. And so perfect. She sighs into my mouth, and I get hard. My blood boils, and I can feel her heart beating against my chest. Her lips are on mine, her tongue is in my mouth. Everything is hot and sensitive. Her fingers stroke the skin on my neck, and I want her to touch me everywhere. I want her to trace every inch of my body with her hands. I want to do the same to her. I need to feel her; I can’t help it.
My hands wander under her sweater, and as I stroke her spine, I can feel her breaking into goose bumps, arching her back, getting closer to me. She stands on tiptoes, her hips pressing against mine, and I’m done for. I’m so screwed.
“Easton,” she whispers my name, and I love that she’s the only one who ever uses my full name, and how her voice sounds when she does. Soft and warm. “Wait.”
One word, and I go ice cold. There’s something in that word I don’t want to hear. Something uncertain and fearful.
