Aflame (Fall Away #4)(35)

The moonlight fell on my lap, and I could see my fingers turning white as I squeezed the phone.

He did know every inch of me, and he could play me like an instrument. His demanding hands and mouth were so greedy, and I dropped my head back, feeling a trickle of sweat glide down my spine.

Shit.

My fingers tingled, and I knew what he was trying to do, and I didn’t want him to stop.

Seems you’re the one with poor conversational skills tonight, he texted.

I rolled my eyes.

You may think you’re different, but you’re not. I know you still feel me, he wrote, and I gritted my teeth at his arrogance, even as I clenched my thighs at his memory.

So many times I was inside of you, he taunted. Tell me you remember, or I’ll have to remind you.

I closed my eyes, my pulse pumping through my body like a drum.

Jared.

I ran my hand down my thigh, f*cking loving the rush between my legs. It had been so long.

“Damn him,” I gasped under my breath.

Do you want me to stop? he asked.

I took in short, fast breaths as I stared at the screen.

Do it. Tell him to stop, I told myself. This is f*cked-up, and he can’t have you.

But my skin was on fire. And it felt like home.

Like warmth and peace and no matter what changed in my life, the people I met, the things I lost, or where I lived, if I was in his orbit, then I was home.

Even when I was eleven and it had been one year to the day that my mother had died, Jared was my beacon that day. He didn’t leave my side, even when I ignored him. He just pushed me on our old tire swing in the backyard for two hours until I finally stopped crying and started talking. He was my friend. We had a strong foundation.

And then, as he became a man, the feelings became stronger. So much stronger.

I sat there and ground my ass in a small circle, giving myself the pleasure of the friction from my shorts and thong against my skin.

He texted again, and I gave in, reading his words.

I loved the skin on the curve of your thigh, Tate. The part where your leg met your hip. It was heaven, and even now, I can still taste it.

My eyes fluttered, and I let my body fall back onto the bed as I grazed the part of my thigh that he loved.

You used to grip my hair so hard that you were damn near riding my face. Your dad never knew how bad you really were.

I ran the heel of my palm over my clit through my pajama shorts and moaned, thinking about his covert morning visits before school. He’d sneak in, bury his head between my legs, and go so hard he’d have to put a hand over my mouth so we weren’t overheard.

Sophomore year when you started track . . . your legs got so toned. I thought you were trying to drive me crazy on purpose.

I slid my middle finger between my folds over my thin shorts, and I couldn’t help it.

I craved his rough hands on me again.

I tensed every muscle in my chest, bringing my breasts higher, and I imagined his long fingers sliding under my hoodie, because he could never keep his damn hands off my chest.

You always fit so perfectly, Tate. The way you’d arch your hips back into me when I f*cked you from behind.

“Fuck,” I groaned at the memory, rolling my hips into my hand and closing my eyes.

That was your favorite position, wasn’t it?

I didn’t answer, because he already knew. Ever since the kitchen table, I always loved it when he had me on my hands and knees.

You never melted underneath me, either, he continued. Every time I pushed, you pushed back. I’d thrust my cock inside of you, and you’d push your f*cking back up off the bed, rubbing your nipples against my lips and begging for my tongue. You always liked it hard.

The ache at my entrance was so hot and sweet. I needed him so bad. No one drove me wild like he did. The rush of need flooded me, and I felt the wetness through my shorts as I rubbed the nub harder.

I closed my eyes, imagining him flipping me onto my stomach and sliding into me. Sweat covered my brow as I remembered, just like it was yesterday, that f*cking fantastic pain I always felt when he entered me. It was a small hurt, but I loved it. He’d hit so deep inside, and the stretch and pressure were sweet.

I brought up the phone to see his new message.

Do you remember graduation night? In my car, out by the lake? It was so hot. Your dress was torn and on the floor of the car, and you put on my necktie. It was the only thing you were wearing.

I remembered. I’d straddled him in the backseat with his tie lying between my breasts. He couldn’t take it. He’d attacked like a wild dog, nearly eating me alive.

Tate, you don’t know what you do to me. You drive me out of my mind. Your words, your laughter, your tears, your eyes . . . everything about you owns me.

“Me, too,” I whispered, a tear spilling out of the corner of my eye and dripping down my temple.

I swallowed, rubbing my legs together to get rid of the ache.

I’m a better man, but there’s never been a better woman for me. There’s never been anyone like you, he texted.

I fisted my hands, needing to come. I gasped, wanting him to make me come, but I crashed my fist to the bed, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He’d hurt me too much, and no matter the physical attraction that still existed between us, that hadn’t changed. I needed to remember that.

I want to crush his f*cking hands when he touches you.