I’m guessing that’s code for me.
“Decker,” I say, then stop because I don’t want to address it. At the same time, I’m so sick of it hanging over us.
“I know.” He breathes out a sigh as if he’s finishing my thought.
I stand and toss the pillow on the couch. “I should go.”
I collect my papers and head to the kitchen, packing my bag so I can get out of here before things get too heavy. He follows and stops in front of me with six inches between us, but he might as well be flush against me for the way my treacherous body reacts. I don’t step back like I should.
Decker pushes my hair back from my face slowly, and I stay still as a statue, holding my breath. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and my eyes fall closed with the gentleness of his touch.
Something in me breaks. I forgot what it felt like to be touched this way. To feel as though I can let the armor I don every day slip away. This man undoes me.
“I’m tired of fighting this.” His voice is a whisper, as if someone might hear us.
I open my eyes and meet his gaze, all the fight having left me. “Then don’t.”
He stares at me, his attention falling to my lips. I wait for the disappointment. For him to step away and say he can’t. The longer his hand stays on my cheek, the more strained the tension between us becomes. His thumb moves to my lips, outlining their shape. I stay in place, not giving him anything. This is his decision, not mine.
A pained expression crosses his eyes, and I prepare myself for his rejection.
Then his fingers tighten around the back of my neck, and he pulls me toward him until his lips meet mine.
His kiss is soft at first, careful, as if he’s asking for permission. I grab the front of his shirt to make sure he knows I’m in total agreement. I haven’t forgotten all the reasons this is a bad idea, but I’m with him—I’m done fighting it. Something shifts inside him, and our kiss turns into the one that encapsulates how long he’s waited to kiss me again.
His mouth turns demanding, his hands more explorative, his tongue desperate for the taste of me. I melt into him, gripping his shirt so hard my knuckles ache, but now that I have him again, I never want him to let me go.
I have no idea how long we kiss, but when we come up for air, he rests his forehead on mine, staring into my eyes.
“God, Pen.”
My eyes drift close at him shortening my name again. The first time since we’ve been reacquainted.
I inch up to kiss him again, but three hard knocks land on the door. “Ignore it.”
He’s still catching his breath, and I wait for him to release me, tell me this is a bad idea. But he presses his lips to mine again, our mouths still ravenous for one another. I wrap my arms around his neck, inching up on my tiptoes. His hands fall to the small of my back, pressing me into his body.
Another three knocks echo on the door. “Deck, man!”
Easton.
We pull apart, and he steps back. He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m not sure he needs to because it’s all there in his eyes for me to see. We’re out of the moment and guilt has seeped in.
Who am I kidding? We’ll never get over this hump. Did I really think we could just move on like that?
He says nothing, turns, and walks over to open the door. “What?”
I catch a quick glimpse of Easton wearing a pair of shorts, no shirt, and just his chains hanging around his neck. He tries to peek in, but Decker shuts the door quickly, so he doesn’t catch sight of me.
“I need a condom,” he says.
“Seriously?” Decker sounds less than impressed.
“You want me on my knees? Do you have one? Some if you’ve got more than one.”
Decker slams the door shut and stalks into his bedroom. I hear a drawer open and shut, then he reappears with a strip of condoms in his hand. A sick feeling settles in my stomach at the reminder that he doesn’t keep them in his bedside drawer because I might stop by. He opens the door and tosses them to Easton.
“Thanks, man, I owe you.”
