Among the Echoes(47)

"Fuck. Come on, Riley. You want this. I know you do," I say to myself.

Finally, over an hour and a half later, I hear the slam of her door and the thumps of feet running toward my apartment. I jump up and ready myself for something so big that I don’t even know where to start preparations. Once she walks back into this apartment, she’s mine. I let her go once. I won’t make that mistake again. I’m ready for her—ready for us.

Suddenly, my door swings open and her eyes are red rimmed but blue as the Caribbean ocean. Her chest is heaving with anxiety, and the mix of longing and insecurity mingles in her face.

"You ready?" I ask calmly.

"I’m really f*cking scared. I don’t know how this will ever work."

"That’s not your job to figure out. I’ll take care of you, Riley. Just tell me you trust me."

She might have shown up, but I can tell that she isn’t here. She’s nervous and jittery. However, just the fact that she came at all proves that she’s trying to get there. Fuck it. I’ll make her ready.

I stand my ground, careful not to move any closer, completely unsure which version of Riley is standing in front of me. The timid and broken girl I first met or the bold and beautiful woman from the hallway.

With a gentle yet stern voice, I tell her, "I want to touch you, but I’m not going to want to stop. So tell me you trust me, beautiful."

"I don’t even really know you," she breathes, clearly doubting her decisions.

"You know enough, or you wouldn’t be here at all."

"I think this is going to be really f*cking bad."

"Probably. Now tell me you trust me."

"I trust you."

"Then come here." I curl my finger at her, but she just blinks at me for entirely too long. "Riley…" I growl.

"Don’t call me that. Just call me beautiful. Please."

"Anything, beautiful," I purr.

Before I have a chance to say anything else, she rushes forward. I’m only a few feet away, but she runs at a full sprint, diving into my arms. Her unrestrained mouth crushes against mine.





I can’t fight this with Slate anymore. It’s messed up and I have no idea how anything good could ever come of us being together, but I absolutely can’t stay away from him any longer. It was one thing when he was hundreds of miles away, but knowing that he is right next door and feeling the spark that still burns between us has me throwing every single one of my fears into the wind and praying he can make good on his promise to keep me safe.

I push a hand into his hair, desperate to be closer. It’s been too long without him. Way too many months without the blaze that only he can cause within me.

"I want you naked. Can you handle that?" he asks, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it on the floor. I can’t even bring myself to stress that this is about to happen. I just want to feel him.

"Door shut. Lights off," I demand between kisses.

I move my hand to trace the muscles of his stomach. Fuck. Slate Andrews is an amazing specimen of a man. I’ve never had self-esteem issues before, and I’m not about to start now, but what the hell this man wants with me is mind-boggling. Yet his hand slides over my breasts with the same intensity that I touch him with.

"Door shut. Overhead off. Lamp on," he counters while carrying me toward the bedroom.

"This is not a negotiation." I drag off my own shirt.

He doesn’t say another word, but the grumble in his chest makes it quite apparent that he’s not pleased. He’ll have to get over it though because in all the stories Dave and I have memorized, we have never once discussed what I would tell someone about my scars. I’m bad at telling the lies we have practiced a million times. I can’t even image how I would explain away the raised scars up each thigh and over my sex. And I have no plans of letting Slate see them tonight. Having sex with a man for the first time in three and a half years is big enough for tonight. I’ll figure out the rest later.

As he places me onto the bed, he follows me down, devouring my mouth in a scorching kiss. I lift my hips off the bed, desperate for contact or, at the very least, friction. Slate props himself up on one arm and the other dives between my legs, still safely covered by my jeans.

"I’m going to lick this * tonight, beautiful," he growls, and my eyes immediately fly open. It’s a shame I can’t let him because I instantly go wet at just the idea.