Page 66 of Meet Me Back Here

Because Forrest is kissing me.

Scholarship packet thrown aside, his hands are on my face. His fingers are in my hair. And his mouth is on mine. It’s fierce and claiming and demanding.

And I’m not thinking when I crawl forward, settling over his lap and tipping his head back. I’m not thinking when my hands slide from his shoulders to grip fistfuls of his T-shirt and pull his body flush against mine. I’m certainly not thinking when he groans into my mouth, and I feel it in every inch of my body.

When we part, I’m gasping for air my brain desperately needs.

“Forrest,” I say, but it sounds like a plea. I’ve wanted this—wanted him—for so long.

“Be with me, Camilla Rose Viottolo,” he says, looking up at me reverently while he runs his fingers through my hair. “I was waiting, but… Be with me.”

Every touch lights me up like fireworks going off in my chest.

“Ok,” I say, nodding and feeling like I’m floating. “Yes.”

He moves quickly and carefully, flipping us and laying me on my back.

And when Forrest Dane kisses me again, it feels like he’s searing himself into me forever.

CHAPTER THIRTY

and for the lady, perhaps a man on his knees

PRESENT

Istare up at Forrest, looking at me like I could be everything, and I think I’ve got him at my mercy.

And I think I just might.

“If you want this, all you have to do is say yes,” Forrest says.

After telling myself for so long that this is something I can’t have, having it at my fingertips feels like the start of a cruel joke. Like somebody is going to pop out and yell Gotcha!

But it’s just me and Forrest here, and he’d never do that to me. We need to talk. More than just a desperate shouting match when we’ve been stretched to the point of snapping. I know we do. But I can’t find it in myself to care right now.

“Yes,” I say, never having been more sure I wanted something in my life.

“You’ll tell me to fuck off?” he confirms. “Say no, if there’s anything you don’t want completely?”

“I will,” I promise.

“And you’ll tell me what you want?”

“I want you,” I say.

Forrest drops to a knee, hooking his arms behind my knees, and lifting me when he pushes back to his feet, my legs hanging uselessly with his elbows at the bend of my knees. My hands fly to his shoulders to steady myself, but he has me, steady as a rock, fingers splayed wide against my back.

When he looks up at me, it’s with such fierceness that the feeling shoots through me, stunning me. He tips his head back and drops me just enough to press me against the wall at my back and kiss me, sudden and all-consuming.

He growls when we part, like needing air is a personal offense, and he presses our foreheads together, both of us now breathing hard.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you, Cam,” he says, and it somehow feels even more powerful than when we first saw each other again last year.

I know that neediness, though. It’s a deep, intimate, visceral kind of longing, a constant ache for the person who has made you whole. I was surviving without him, but I feel alive in his arms.

“Bed,” I gasp. “Now.”

Forrest nods against me before pulling us away from the wall and striding toward the bedroom. He kicks the door fully open with enough force to make it smack against the wall behind it.