Come to Me Quietly(69)

Aly wasn’t wearing a bra, and I thought maybe somewhere in my subconscious I already knew that, but this… this was shocking, too much, and I sucked in a fortifying breath because I had no idea how I was ever going to get out of this.

I didn’t want to.

Aly’s hair fell in a tangled mess around her shoulders as she finally lifted the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor.

And I was trembling, my body losing all control as my attention shot between her face and her full breasts.

What the hell did she think she was doing to me? This was almost as cruel as making me watch her splash around with Dickhead in that f*cking pool last night. Although neither time had there been anything callous in her movements, nothing meant to taunt, and tonight it was clear this was spurred by the same need spinning through her that was spinning through me.

“Touch me,” she commanded, her voice low. There was something in the demand, a hidden shyness that only affirmed the goodness I found in her.

“Aly… damn it… you need to stop.”



“Please,” she begged.

My fingers worked deeper into her hips, and Aly sat back, her hands on my shoulders as she bared herself to me. This girl was so unbelievably gorgeous, her skin a creamy color that seemed to glow in the dim light. So soft. Perfect.

My fingers moved, slowly trailing up her sides, dipping into the faint divots between each of her ribs. “Aleena” quietly slipped from my mouth like a prayer.

With my touch, goose bumps pebbled over the expanse of her skin and the rosy buds of her breasts tightened. Her head listed just to the side as she drew in a shaky breath, her dark hair falling all over one shoulder, a silent whimper falling from her trembling lips.

“Aly, I… ” I looked up at her, unable to understand why someone like her wanted to give herself to someone like me.

“Shh,” she begged. “Don’t, Jared. I need you… want you. I don’t care about anything outside my door. Here, it’s just the two of us.”



Gentle fingers swept down my chest and teased under the hem of my shirt. Warm palms flattened on my bare skin, and she slowly skimmed them up my stomach, dragging my shirt with it, pressing harder as she passed over my ribs. She splayed her fingers wide as her hands moved over my shoulders.

I shook, but I was powerless, so I let her take control. In surrender, I lifted my arms so she could tug the shirt over my head. She tossed it to the floor on top of hers.

Aly sat back to take me in. She’d seen me without my shirt on before. I mean, I’d even let her touch me. But never in my life had I felt as exposed as I did right then. Her fingertips softened as they traced along the outline of my sins, as she caressed the markings of every mistake I’d ever made as if this girl somehow found some kind of beauty in them. She explored, caressed down my chest, back up my sides, and over my shoulders.

She should be repulsed because I was every time I looked in the mirror.

But she was gazing at me, touching me like maybe she really did understand, like she wasn’t humoring me with some kind of bullshit pity party. She leaned down and kissed the dying rose at the center of my chest.

A tremor coursed through my body.

I knew it wasn’t feigned. I could feel it. Aly understood me.

And again I was thinking that maybe she and I did fit because she was f*cking perfect and good and every kind of beautiful, and I was corrupted and impure and vile, and just maybe piecing two people together so contrary meant we could somehow create a whole.

That kind of thinking, though, was all just a painful delusion. But right then, I didn’t f*cking care. I’d be happy to die in this deception.