by Amelia Wilde
Another tear escapes, and she wipes it away with a disgusted flick of her fingers. “Then tell me now. What the hell do you have to lose?”
I take a deep breath. Nothing. I’ve already lost her once. “The night I left you. That bruise on my face?”
“You didn’t get hit at a party.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“No.” This is not shit I want to talk about, it’s so fucking mortifying. “I was with Chris Powell. You remember him from school?”
She raises one shoulder a fraction of an inch. “I guess. Did he play basketball?”
“Football. Anyway, I was with him that night, before…before. We were behind that bar that was barely off campus. The Blue Door. Remember it?”
“Of course.” Her voice is clipped, impatient. I need to get this over with.
“I was with him on the walk behind the bar, and all of these guys showed up out of nowhere. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but they started pushing him around. It was—it escalated, okay? I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t.” A sick acid rises in my throat. I’ve never been able to stop shitty things from happening. Chris was no exception. “One of them punched me in the face, and two of them beat him up. It was bad.”
Lacey’s stoic expression has melted into something else entirely. Concern. Sorrow. I don’t know. Something else.
“The cops showed up, and he shoved something into my hands. They were campus cops, and they busted us for drug possession.”
Lacey shakes her head. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then why are you not—did you go to jail?”
I look her in the eyes. “I don’t know why they didn’t report us, Lace, I really don’t. Something else must have been going on. But they settled for expelling both of us from school. I had to leave the next day, and I was so fucking—” I can hardly look at her, but I force myself. “I was so fucking ashamed that I left that night. Only I couldn’t leave without some kind of explanation. And I know the one I gave you then was a lie, but this is the truth.” I take both of her hands in mine, and my chest goes tight. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t take it if something happened to you because of how stupid I was, so I didn’t stay in town. But I always wanted to be with you. You have to believe me.”
She’s silent, staring down at me, unmoving.
“You have to believe me, Lace.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lacey
You have to believe me.
It’s true and he doesn’t even know it.
It’s more true than anything else I’ve ever known in my life.
I do have to believe him, because my heart still belongs to him.
It’s only ever belonged to him.
And he’s raw in front of me, right now, kneeling on the hard floor next to my chair, his giant, calloused hands holding mine like they’re two precious objects that he doesn’t dare handle roughly.
His green eyes are focused like lasers on mine, the lamp from the corner of the room reflecting into them, casting shards of gold like a kaleidoscope.
My breath is caught in my chest for far longer than it should be. What the hell am I going to say? What can I say? My heart is shattered and whole, all at the same time. Shattered from losing eight years together because of some ridiculous shit he never should have believed about himself. Whole because he didn’t just leave me. The words he said that night—being here opened my eyes. I don’t want to be trapped with you—weren’t true. He was desperate, embarrassed. He had convinced himself that I couldn’t handle being with him. That I shouldn’t be with him, for my own safety.
He’d tried to do what was best for me, even though it nearly destroyed both of us.
I can’t say, even now, that I wasn’t destroyed by it—only that I learned to manage it. I buried it deeply enough to get through med school. Deeply enough to date, although never seriously, and never for more than a couple of outings at a time. Deeply enough to move back to Lockton thinking that there was no chance—
I can’t stay still any longer.
My hands squeeze his instinctively, and his eyebrows go up a fraction of an inch—hope blazes in his eyes—and then I throw myself forward, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my mouth against his. I’m kissing him harder than I ever did, than I ever have, even back when we were teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and Crosby’s body reacts instantly, pressing against me with equal strength. With greater strength, because he’s so much bigger, so much stronger.
I want to relax, tumble backward, let him take control over me—like he always did, like he will do—but I don’t. Not this time. The desire to show him how fiercely I want him, how fiercely I believe him, takes over me, and when he pushes, his muscles tensing, I push back.
I put my hands on either side of his face, his two-day stubble rough under my palms, and I explore his mouth with my tongue. I break the kiss and I lick his jawline all the way back to his earlobe, taking the delicate skin there between my teeth, biting just hard enough that I feel him take in a gasping breath.
His hands go to my waist, shifting my weight so that my legs are wrapped around him, his cock like steel underneath my slit, kept apart from him by the thin fabric of my yoga pants and the thick fabric of his jeans. I brace myself on his shoulders when his hands slide up, wrapping around my jaw, and he forces me back a couple of inches, looking into my eyes. It’s like his gaze is on fire. It burns me up from the inside.
“Do you believe me?” His voice is low, urgent. I move my head against his hands, testing his strength. He holds me there. I almost lose it right then.
“I believe you.” My words are breathy, insubstantial, but they carry a huge weight.
Crosby pulls me down, this time controlling the kiss, his lips hard on mine, frenzied. He tastes like high school and going home, like a future bright with the heat that’s unique to only us, like waking up next to him and tracing my finger down the length of his spine, like seeing him naked in the shower, his skin wet with shining water droplets.
There’s so much more I want to say, but the words fly right out of my head. All of my body is lighting up under Crosby’s touch. Every time his fingers make contact with my clothes, never mind my skin, it sends pure desire streaking through all of my nerves like an electrical shock. I can’t hold the questions I have for him in place long enough to get the words out, and even if I could, I would never interrupt a kiss like this for something as cheap as talk.
I moan into his mouth and it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. The sound is so low and primal that it doesn’t even seem like it’s coming from me. Crosby’s cock twitches against me, and I dig my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.
“This—this isn’t the place,” I gasp, a wicked grin playing over my face.
Understanding dawns in Crosby’s eyes. “Oh yeah?” He leans his head forward and plants a kiss hotter than an ember in the hollow between my shoulder and my neck. “Where’s the place, then?”
Every word out of my mouth is winding me tighter and tighter. I need release from this, and I need it with him, and I need it now.
“Upstairs.”
“Your bedroom?”
He traces his tongue into that same hollow, the tip moving in lazy circles there, the air evaporating off the wetness he leaves behind, goosebumps rising in the relative cool of the room.
“Yes.” I can hardly get the word out, I’m that consumed by everything he’s doing to me. Part of me wants to stay here on the floor forever and not take the chance of having this moment interrupted by anything—no second thoughts, no trips up the staircase, anything. But more of me wants to stretch out on the bed and let Crosby have his way with me, to have my way with him, like I’ve wanted for eight years. Eight excruciatingly long years. “My bedroom.”
I struggle against him a little bit, trying to pull us both up off the floor and failing.
He laughs, and this time the sou
nd is pure joy, pure lust. I could never get enough of hearing it. Not if I spent a lifetime listening to it.
Then Crosby stands up, scooping me up into his arms in one fluid motion, ignoring his bad hand, and heads for the door.
“You’re damn right, you gorgeous woman,” he growls into my ear. “Let’s not waste any more time getting there.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Crosby
A knock at the door cracks the moment like a pane of glass getting hit by a baseball.
Lacey tenses in my arms, her grip going tight around my neck. She glances up at me, a question in her eyes.
“Fuck no,” I answer, too quiet for whoever is standing outside, only feet away, to hear. “I didn’t invite anyone.”
“Jesus, of course not,” she says in a matching whisper. “Why would you—shit.” Then she shifts her weight, and I set her on her feet. Her hands go to her hair, smoothing down her ponytail, tucking the ends that escaped during that hot kiss on the floor back into place. She looks down at the shirt that rumpled under my hands and pats it down. Then she takes one step toward the door.
I catch her by the elbow. I’m painfully hard. I need her. I don’t want to wait, and I know it probably shows in my face.
“Don’t answer it.”
She bites her lip and lets out a half sigh, shaking her head with just the slightest motion. “Crosby, I—”
Then I realize what I’m doing. Who knows what’s on the other side of the door? It could have something to do with her job, which is way more crucial than mine. I drop my hand, nod at her. “Go see who it is.”
“I’m sorry,” she mouths at me, then whirls around, heading for the door. I step back into the dining room, then realize that if whoever it is comes in—and fuck, why would she invite anyone in?—I’ll just be standing there like an idiot.
So I sit down at the table in front of my still empty plate.
The sound of the door cracking open floats down the hall, and I stare into a container of fajita ingredients. My mouth waters, but the only thing I want to taste right now is Lacey. Food can wait. Forever, if that’s what’s fucking necessary.
There’s a screech from the front door, and I bolt up from the chair, ready to run outside and kill whoever it is that caused Lacey to make that sound. I’m almost to the dining room door when the follow-up registers: a series of ohmygods and I can’t believe it’s yous.
A girlfriend.
One of Lacey’s fucking girlfriends, probably from right here in Lockton. Probably from our high school class.
Has shown up at just this moment, just when I was finally going to get to—
“I didn’t know you still lived here!” Lacey cries. Who the hell is it that she’s actually excited to see this person in the middle of what we were just doing?
“I didn’t. Not until recently.” Whoever she’s talking to has a musical kind of voice that sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. And I’m sure as hell not going to stick my head out into the hallway and wave.
“When?”
“I think it’s been three weeks. Maybe a month?”
“I’m just back here as of last week.”
“Unreal. What are you—did I see you’re a doctor now?” There’s a little pause. I imagine hugging, or whatever it is women do when they’re not saying something in a conversation like this. My cock throbs.
Don’t invite her in…
“Yeah! I’m doing my residency here, actually. So I don’t have a ton of time off. But we should have lunch!”
Yes, lunch. A different day. Any other day.
“We really should! I want to catch up. I want to hear everything. I can’t believe it’s been this long.”
“I know.” Lacey’s voice is brimming with sincerity. She’s the only person I know who wouldn’t slam the door in someone’s face, no matter how much she wants to get back to… “I actually have some things to finish up here, but we’ll get together soon.”
“That would be great! Oh, I’m so glad to see you. I’m sorry for stalking you—I saw your mom at the grocery store and she told me you bought this house!”
Lacey laughs, and it’s only then that I hear the strain in her voice, which sends a new wave of need rocketing through my shoulders, all the way down to my hips. “I have to tell her not to give out my address.”
“Okay. I’ll get out of your way!” Now there’s definitely hugging going on, fabric rustling, the whole nine.
“Come back any time!”
I hope she doesn’t mean any time.
I wait for the door to close.
It doesn’t close.
“What?”
Now I can’t resist peeking out into the hall. Lacey is standing with her hand on the doorknob, her body in front of the gap. Whoever it was has left the porch, but has obviously turned the hell around to say one more thing. I’m about to explode out of my skin.
Lacey laughs again, and the sound is even less convincing than before. “That’s a good one!” she shouts. “Bye!”
Then she slams the door closed. It shuts so hard that the frame rattles. Her hand goes to the lock and she twists it, then twists it again to make sure it’s really locked.
Then she whirls around, and I see that all my worries about this moment being derailed were fucking stupid. Her eyes are lit up with desire, and it’s all focused on me, so hot that I swear my clothes have started melting to my skin.
The moment unfreezes and she’s running—no shit, running—down the hall, closing the gap between us in three steps, maybe less, and leaping into my arms, wrapping her legs around me, burying her face in my neck. Her teeth are against my skin, and she’s moving with such a frenzy that if I was any less of a man, I wouldn’t be able to hold her. The way she rolls her hips in my arms just about sends me over the edge right there in the hallway.
“Go,” she breathes into my ear, and that’s all it takes to force me into motion. I’m down the hall and going up the stairs between one breath and the next.
At the landing, I only pause for a fraction of a second. Her bedroom door is open, straight in front of me, the bed a white expanse of comforter and pillows.
I cross the threshold and breathe in the air that’s already filled with her scent. There is nowhere else on earth that I’d rather be right now. Not a single fucking place. I wouldn’t even trade a tropical island for this. No contest.
I kick the door shut behind us, moving us toward the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lacey
“Oh—”
He doesn’t put me down on the bed, not like I thought he would. Instead, Crosby puts me down on my feet, right at the foot of the bed, and presses his lips against my neck, pulling the collar of my shirt away from my skin so he can start at the hollow of my shoulder and work his way up to my jawline.
“Oh, please—” I just want to get to the bed. I want to be on the bed with him so intensely that begging is all I can do.
“Hush.”
The word is all authority, and I get hotter and wetter at the sound of it. I settle for a low, wordless sound—I can’t help it, I can’t keep it in. His tongue against my skin is too much.
Crosby leans back and his hands fly to the hem of my shirt.
He tugs it up inch by inch, a wicked grin on his face until the moment he pulls it over my head.
Then he’s dead serious, his eyes locked on the flat of my stomach, tracing the new curves of my waist. I wasn’t very different in high school, but my body has a substance to it now that I never could have dreamed of back then.
The heat and wetness between my legs intensifies.
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
My cheeks must be on fire, they’re so hot, and I don’t try to keep the smile hidden. It’s like Crosby is the sun and I’m just basking in him.
“Touch me. Please.” It’s a broken whisper that doesn’t quite match the pulsing desire that’s threatening to fill up my entire body and wash
me away.
He drops my shirt and his hands are on my skin again, tracing their way up my waist toward the fabric of my bra. Crosby hooks one finger underneath the edge and drags it around toward the back.
I can’t look at him and handle his touch. I might die of sheer bliss. So I close my eyes.
With a practiced movement, he unhooks the bra and tugs the straps over my shoulders. My nipples harden in the cool air, and I open my eyes. I want to see Crosby’s face.
His expression is pure awe, like this is the first time he’s seeing me naked. It might as well be, it’s been so long.
“Is it like looking at a new person?”
He shakes his head. “It’s like looking at the only person I ever wanted to see like this.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not.” There’s an edge to his voice. “No other woman has ever come close to you.”
That’s when the truth comes out. “I haven’t—I haven’t been with another man since you.”
Shocked, Crosby’s eyes shoot up from my breasts to my face, his hands lingering on my rib cage. “Are you serious?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“No.”
“Not a single person?”
“Not a single one. It’s been—I’ve gone on dates, but that’s it. There’s been no one, Crosby. No one since you.” This is as much as I can get out while he’s still touching me.
Then his expression changes. His eyes narrow, and the corners of his mouth curve upward. There’s a new glow in his green eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Nobody else has touched you?”
I can’t speak. I shake my head, once, quickly, sharply. Make no mistake.
“Nobody…kissed you like this?”
He leans his head forward and presses his lips firmly against the swell of my right breast, just above my nipple.
I find my voice. “No.”
“Nobody…licked you like this?”
He moves his head to the other breast and then swirls his tongue around the hardness at the center. The heat of his mouth is like a bolt of lightning coursing through my chest and down to the space between my legs. I can’t keep my eyes open, and my head drops back.