It’s a bad idea for so many reasons—and I am as horrible as everyone thinks I am, because I say the next words before I even give my brain a chance to remember that I’m setting her up for disappointment and failure again.
“Then I guess I shouldn’t stop.”
I don’t.
She looks at me, a bit imploring and a bit hopeful, before I’m kissing her again.
It’s like it used to be—I’ve got no idea how much time does or doesn’t pass.
I just know it’sherI’m kissing.
The love of my entire sorry fucking life.
Her tongue sweeping against mine.
Her moans I get to swallow because my hands wander—I can’t help it, I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.
Gripping her jaw, just this side of rough, across her chest, over her bare skin because we lose the bra as soon as she arches up in permission, skating across her ribs, flared and open to me because of her ragged breath, but I’ll pretend it’s so I have access to her heart again. I trail my mouth along the whirls of lace at the top of her underwear.
Her teeth bite down on my bottom lip, and I groan, cock twitching in my shorts—I’ll probably fucking die soon—and she whispers into my mouth, a tiny plea, “Bohdan, please, I need you to—I need—”
“Whatever you want, Sloan.” I pull back, one hand gripping her chin. “Same rules apply. Whatever you want, whenever you want. You say stop, I stop.”
I’ve thought a lot of things might kill me in the last few years, but none has come as close as her next few words. “Please don’t stop, ever.”
I groan again, mouth back on hers, devouring every small noise she makes when I slide my hand down her underwear, pausing right where she likes, moving my fingers in small circles—the way she writhes under me, how her fingers dig into my shoulders, the others clawing at my back, tells me at least that hasn’t changed.
My luck might have drastically shifted—someone different was rolling the dice out there in the universe, because the other thing that seems like it might be the same is how her body responds to mine.
Sliding my fingers down the centre of her, I moan, pleading with her really. “Sloan, you’re fucking soaked. I’ll die if I can’t eat you out.”
She inhales, half a barely audible moan, half a laugh, and I pull away, my own breathing heavy, trying to get a look at her.
Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the constellation of freckles sparkling under her left eye.
“Sure,” she says, like she’s conceding something.
“Sure?” I repeat, voice strangled.
“I mean, sure. If you have to.” Sloan nods, but I see the corners of her lips tilt upwards, fighting a smile.
It makes me smile, too. Forget for a second that I’m so hard and so gone for her I might explode.
But it’s a bit like I’m looking at the person she was before I trampled all over her: soft, funny, but wildly stubborn.
“There’s my girl.” I grin, kissing her, roughly, before moving down her body again—hands tight against her waist, teeth scraping skin and tugging the lace down her legs so she’s bare, right in front of me.
I inhale, eyes roving back up to Sloan’s—she’s propped up again, watching me, deep breaths heaving across her chest. So beautiful. Too beautiful, probably.
“Relax, Zlatícko. I remember what you like.”
“You didn’t forget?” She tips her head to the side.
“I couldn’t forget anything about you, even if I tried,” I tell her, never mind the fact that I wouldn’t try, and if memories were something you could hold, they’d be prying the ones of her from my hands when I died.
She smiles, soft and sure.
I don’t wait any longer, I can tell by the way her shoulders roll back, how her fingers grip the sheets and her legs tense, that she’s impatient.
