Page 64 of Until You

I study Crew in the early morning hours just before the gray sky puts on a show with its soft pastels and then bright oranges. He’s facing me, his head on the pillow, his body uncovered down to his hip, and his lips with the barest hint of a smile as he dreams whatever it is he’s dreaming.

I wonder if it’s of me.

The thought comes easily. Naturally. And when I normally would overanalyze everything about that thought, somehow I don’t. Instead, I sink into the pillow, enjoy the feeling of having him beside me, the contentment of some damn good sex, and relive everything about last night.

Sitting in my house last night, wishing Crew could have stayed and then realizing no car had come up the driveway to drop the girls off. Then summoning up the moxie to come up here, and if I’m honest, ask for more.

I scrunch my nose at the thought.

I’ve never been that forward in my life. I’ve never wanted to be . . . and yet with Crew . . . it just feels like things are different. In the short time I’ve known him, he’s made it okay to be both strong and weak. To own both.

My eyes trace over the tattoo that goes from his bicep to his shoulder. The one that masterfully covers the scar of a bullet wound. One I would have never noticed unless my own tongue hadn’t slid over it. One my own mouth hadn’t kissed.

Because the shower was nice. Soapy, slippery hands. A cold shower wall against my back. A seat he hoisted one of my legs up on to open me up while he used his mouth to explore and pleasure and masterfully destroy my senses.

Then the conversation after when we were wrapped in towels, sitting cross-legged on the bed with glasses of wine in hand.

“So much for sticking to my guns,” Crew says as he eyes me above the rim of his glass. His hair is half dry with its wavy locks falling every which way, the corners of his mouth curling up.

“About?”

“You.”

“Me?” I say in mock surprise while secretly wanting to know more.

“Yes, you.” He huffs out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I wanted this to happen from that first bite of horrible pea-ridden lasagna, but I swore I couldn’t let it happen. That I couldn’t complicate my life more than it already is.”

“Should I be offended that you’re calling me a complication?” I say and laugh.

“In all the best ways.”

Crew leans forward and kisses me with a casualness that seems so natural I don’t give it a second thought.

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

“I may have had the same thoughts as we ate Oreos on the front porch.” I purse my lips and nod. “And I also might have told myself it was ridiculous to want the hot landlord.”

“Well, good.” He gives a resolute nod. “At least we both know we suck at resisting each other.”

“They do say resistance is futile.”

“Tell whoever they are, that they’re right because I’m going to want a lot more of this,” he says and then smothers my laugh when he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. He tastes of wine and desire, and my insides melt from the sensation overload of the last few hours.

“No complaints about that on my end.”

“Good to know.” He kisses me again.

“Another truth?”

“Lay it on me.”

“I convinced myself I didn’t need this, that it didn’t matter . . . but after tonight, I’ve been proven wrong.”

“Care to define this and it for me?” He narrows his eyes, and his playful smile makes butterflies take flight.

I take the hand he holds out and twist my fingers with his. “Sex. Physicality. Companionship. Connection.”