I spread my hand and push it against his stomach to feel every movement of his muscles.
The kiss is slow, then not.
He twists and climbs my body until one knee is pushing between my thighs.
His hair falls in that perfect way it always does, and brushes my forehead when he leans in. I feed him my tongue, and he takes it.
The fire snaps in the background.
He fists my hair like he’s holding me in place for his mouth.
I drag my hands up under the hem of the crop top and swallow down the little sounds he makes when I scrape his ribs. He pushes my hand higher until I’m groping his chest—the tank riding up, the red fabric bunched beneath his pecs—like he needs me to feel every stutter of his heart.
His hips roll, and I feel him; thick and heavy through his sweats.
Not subtle.
Not shy.
Time falls away from us.
My guts clench. I don’t know how long we’ve been like this.
Carey holds my shoulders and I push my hips up to meet him.
My body wants more, but my head is more present than I’d like it to be.
I keep my grip planted above his waist, and I think he gets the picture.
He settles back to rest on my thigh, and finds my hand again. “I like you holding me.”
“I prefer when you hold me,” I admit without thinking.
“I like taking care of you.”
“I…” I kiss him again because I can’t tell him what I need to say.
With our fingers intertwined, he reaches with his thumb to rub my scar. Then he brings it to his mouth and drags his lips over it. “Please tell me how you got this.”
“It’s not a cute story.”
“I can’t imagine it would be.” He runs the back of my hand down his cheek. “I don’t want cute. I want true.” I hesitate, but he insists. “Please, Tek. Just one sentence.” Carey’s other hand slides up to my throat. I want him to squeeze, to dig his nails in, but he only lingers a second. “Once you tell me, I promise I’ll make you forget all about it.”
“Fuck.” My breath shakes out. He has no idea how much I need that to be true. “Is that a promise?”
He tilts my chin. “Of course, Oppa.”
The urge to brush it off and lie again, is real. But Carey waits with big eyes like he’s trying to stare inside of me so he can pull my answer out.
My gaze drops to the black lettering on the front of the crop top, but he lifts my chin further until his fingers slip free. “It’s okay,” he says, defeated.
“No… It…” I hesitate.
I want to say it.
I try again. “It was a—”
A giant crack. So loud. So close it feels like it’s inside the room.
