Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(81)
“Exactly. So, while your kiss that day was fine, I thought there wasn’t anything behind it. No deeper feelings or anything.”
“Well, now you know that wasn’t true.”
He’s telling the truth. I know it in the way his soft lips mirror mine at just the right angle, feathering light kisses over the corner of my lips. Unlike the hungry collision of our lips in my bedroom doorway, this kiss is soft, unrushed, but no less purposeful. With each tiny inhale, each press of our lips closer, every slide of our tongues.
I melt like butter against him, thighs parting on either side of his torso as he moves under me. Every touch and taste of him drives me wild with need. My teeth graze his lip, giving the softest bite. I’m not sure what to concentrate on as his hands wander my backside, gripping my ass, grinding me to him.
He loses all control at one point, sitting upward, capturing my lips, my neck, my breasts with urgency. My skin erupts in gooseflesh everywhere he touches. I reach to feel him under me, pressing against me, teasing. He tenses as I move my hand over him, guiding him closer.
He presses his forehead to mine. “We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to. I really want to,” I whisper, meeting his eyes with urgency.
His gaze searches mine for any sign of doubt. When he fails to find any, he shifts me aside to retrieve a condom from his wallet in his pants pocket. I watch as he rolls it on with ease, quick to resettle us exactly as we were.
He allows me to set the pace, taking his size in gradually, inch by inch. Halfway, I pause, shuddering at the overwhelming feeling of him stretching me, filling me. “I don’t know if this is going to work,” I manage.
He cups my cheek, pressing a soft kiss into my neck. “It’s okay. Just go slow.” A low groan escapes him as I lower myself, his voice driving me wild with need. “You can take it, baby. That’s it.”
“Fuck,” I moan, tipping my head back as I fully sink onto him, feeling him hit me exactly where I want it. When we find the perfect rhythm, chests melding together, I can’t believe we’ve wasted so many months.
“God, you feel . . . I never knew it could be this good,” he whispers against my lips, giving my bottom lip the softest bite as I rock against him, increasing my speed.
I’m surely a broken record of cries as he moves his hand between my legs, thumb swiping exactly where I crave the pressure. I curl my nails into his neck, his hard back, his shoulders. Everywhere I can reach.
We watch each other climb higher and higher, exchanging slow, shallow breaths. We’re in our own strange bubble. We’re floating above earth, away from all reality, intrinsically connected.
His rough free hand works its way over my waist, setting the pace in the final stretch, flexing and working against me. His eyes pin me in place when he finally detonates in me, sending me plunging into another dimension along with him.
When it’s all over, I’m not even sure I have control over my own body. The aftershocks rip through me, rendering my limbs Jell-O. Our eyes snag in the dark, and he holds my gaze. All the seemingly insignificant strips of him I’ve banked slowly, one by one, in my memories make up the man right here, holding on to me like I’m about to disappear. The tiny arch of his brow when he looks at me. The way he looks to the ceiling, pretending to be hopelessly annoyed with me when I know he isn’t. The way he’ll go out of his way to help me in all my ridiculous situations. And the way he cares for Angie. The way he cares for her so much that he can’t fathom losing anyone else in his life.
“You have to leave in a few hours,” I whisper, collapsing over his chest. “I don’t want you to.”
He squeezes me tighter, melding us together, savoring the moment. “I don’t want to leave you, either.”
“Will you wake me up before you go?” I plead. “I don’t want to wake up alone.”
He responds by kissing the top of my head. I burrow into his neck, taking in his scent, fighting to stay awake in the darkness, wishing I could slow down time. Maybe stop it altogether.
Before I fall asleep, holding on to him for dear life, the realization pours over me like a bucket of cold water. There’s no coming back from this.
? chapter twenty-nine
TREVOR RUNS TOWARD me through a lush, green, tranquil field. The sleeves of his white Flynn Rider dress shirt billow in the breeze with each strong yet graceful slow-motion stride. Sunlight bathes his skin in liquid gold.
He’s half a football field length away and it might as well be a continent. The sun doesn’t extend to my half of the field, which is cold, slate-gray, and shrouded in miserable decay. A cruel cloud hangs directly above me, ominous, inky, and full, threatening to burst at any moment to drench me in an icy sheet of rain.
Desperate to sprint into the warm safety of Trevor’s arms, I ready myself for the first stride. But my limbs refuse to budge. I’m stuck. Immobile. I can barely even exhale a breath.
The more I struggle, the more pressure builds against my ribs. Something black, shiny, and thick has coiled itself around my entire body, squeezing tighter and tighter, intent on sucking the life out of me. Strangely, it smells like a mixture of sweet and soothing, like my White Strawberry Herbal Essences shampoo.
It’s my own hair. I’m being strangled to death by my own Rapunzel-like hair.