“I’m Brooke’s best friend.” Her other hand trailed up his chest, tracing the hard planes there, and he could feel the warmth of her touch through the fabric. It was tentative, exploring, like she’d thought about this before too.
“And I’m her annoying little brother,” he murmured against her jaw, breathing in jasmine and wine. His lips brushed that spot he’d been staring at all night. “Though I’ve been taller than you for a decade now.”
“Not helping your case,” she whispered, but then her mouth found his again, and this time there was nothing hesitant about it. The kiss deepened, years of tension finally breaking. Her hands slid into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. The heat of her body pressed against his made his head spin. Her tongue traced his bottom lip and he groaned, tightening his grip on her waist.
When they broke apart, her breath came quick against his mouth. The movie played forgotten, casting blue light across her flushed skin. Her hair was falling loose where he’d tangled his fingers in it, and he could feel her heart racing where his hand rested against her ribs. She looked like every dream he’d ever had, but better—because she was real, and she was here, and she was staring as if she wanted this just as much.
“Gale...” His name was half warning, half plea.
“I know.” He pressed his forehead to hers, trying to steady his racing heart. “But I’ve wanted this since I can remember. Since you first started coming over to my house and I could barely string two words together around you.”
She laughed softly, her fingers moving to trace his jaw. Her touch was featherlight but it burned everywhere she made contact. “That makes it more complicated, not less.”
“Screw simple.” He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm, feeling her pulse flutter under his lips. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” The confession hung between them, years in the making.
Her eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. “You’re making it very hard to be sensible right now.”
“Good,” he murmured, and when she pulled him down for another kiss, she surprised him by pushing against his shoulders. He let her guide him back against the couch cushions, his heart hammering as she followed. The way she took control sent heat rushing through him.
“You know, you’ve grown up pretty well, Knight.” Her fingers traced down his chest, and he couldn’t help but shudder.
“Still the same guy who used to trip over his own feet whenever you walked into a room,” he managed, but then her teeth grazed his bottom lip and coherent thought became impossible.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her cheeks flushed. Something flickered in her eyes—uncertainty mixed with want—and then she shifted slightly in his lap. The tentative movement nearly undoing him.
“Fuck...” His voice came out embarrassingly strangled.
But the sound seemed to embolden her. He’d always known her as controlled, deliberate. Seeing her like this—testing boundaries, trying something new—was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced.
She took her time kissing him now. Like she was discovering what made him tick, what made his breath catch.
“You okay?” she whispered.
“Hell, yes,” he breathed, unable to look away from her. “You have no idea how okay.”
Her hands wandered over his chest more confidently now, exploring the muscles there, and when her nails scraped across his abs, his hips jerked involuntarily.
“Oops. Sorry,” she whispered, starting to pull back.
“Don’t be.” His voice was raw. “You can... you can do that again. You can do anything you want.”
Her eyes darkened at that, and the smile that curved her lips made his stomach flip. “Anything?”
The word held a universe of possibilities. And God help him, but he meant it. He’d let Harriet Smythe do whatever she wanted to him. He always had.
She traced one finger down his jaw, watching his reaction. When she reached his neck, she replaced the finger with her lips, and his hands tightened on her hips. Her mouth found that sensitive spot below his ear. She grazed it with her teeth before biting down slowly, deliberately, with just enough pressure to make him groan.
“I’ve thought about what you might sound like,” she murmured against his skin. “More than I should have.”
That confession, combined with the feel of her breath on his neck, nearly broke him. “How—” His voice cracked and he had to try again. “How long?”
She pulled back to look at him, and there was something vulnerable in her eyes despite her position in his lap. “For for always, obviously. But a while. Turns out you fill out a jersey pretty well after twenty,” she said, her cheeks flushing darker.
The idea that she’d been wanting him too made him dizzy. “Just the jersey?” he couldn’t help asking.
Her laugh was shaky. “You’re trouble.”
“Only for you.” He meant it to sound teasing, but it came out too honest. There was a certain unspoken magic in the space, as if they were encased in a soap bubble, pressing lightly on the edge—just a fraction more pressure and the whole thing would pop. The famous line from the movie kept being uttered on the TV, the whole bit about the pirate farm boy wanting to do whatever the woman wished.
