Page 138 of Blush Crush

Ariana captures my face in her hands and brushes it away before trailing soft kisses over the damp line left behind.

I sweep my hand slowly up her back, tracing her spine.

I’ve never been this vulnerable with anyone in my life. Not my parents. Not my siblings. No one.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t?—”

“Shh,” Ariana hushes soothingly. “It’s okay. You can let it all out and I won’t tell a soul. You’re safe with me.”

God, I don’t deserve her. Her kindness. Her compassion. Her heart. Her mind. Her body. None of it. There are better men out there. Saints and heroes, good men who make a difference. And yet she’s mine, she chose me back and I’m more determined than ever to be deserving of her. To be the kind of man worthy of her love, because she already has mine.

I’m so in love with Ariana. I think I fell in love with her that morning she hummed me awake, covered in flour, completely unaware of the broken man next door who couldn’t take his eyes off her.

I fought it. Denied it. Avoided it at all costs. But you can’t outrun destiny. I’ve never been a big believer in fate or divine intervention or anything that exists beyond what I can see and touch and prove. But I’d be a fool to sit here, holding this woman, after everything that led us to each other, and not wonder if Miles had something to do with it. If somehow, in whatever form he exists in now, he nudged things along. Sent her to me. Made sure I was paying attention. Maybe burst a pipe or two when I had my head up my ass.

It sounds implausible.

But then again, so does falling in love after spending your whole life convinced you never would.

Ariana shifts slightly and I sense the moment she feels my hardened length as she moves. Her wide eyes meet mine, confused but there’s desire in them too.

You’d think it would be impossible to be turned on after such a depressing and difficult conversation, yet my body has been primed for her since she crawled into my lap.

The timing couldn’t be more off, but I want her. I just bared my soul to her and long to be as close to her as possible. To not feel an inch of space between us. To be connected to her like I’ve never been with anyone else.

Seeming to understand where my mind just went, she repositions herself to straddle me, rocking herself against the bulge in my pants as she discards her cardigan.

My hands find her waist but I don’t pull her closer. I just hold her there, taking her in. Her eyes are still a little red from crying, her cheeks still faintly damp. She’s beautiful. Otherworldly. Unearthly. Made of some kind of magic to have completely bewitched me.

I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, my thumb trailing down her cheek. She leans into the touch, her eyes closing briefly, and something about that small surrender makes my heart turn over in my chest.

I kiss her slowly. No urgency, just her mouth and mine, unhurried. Time is of no consequence. There is nothing and no one but us and this moment.

She makes a soft sound against my lips and her hands come up to my face, cradling my jaw. Being held like this does something wild to the drumming of my pulse.

We undress each other without any of the usual rush, each layer coming away carefully. I take my time with her, pressing my lips to her shoulder, her collarbone, the curve of her neck.

When I finally lay her back against the pillows and settle over her, I go still for a moment. Just gazing at her. Her dark hair fanned out beneath her, her watchful eyes flaring with heat and trust.

I lower myself to her slowly, and when we come together it’s overwhelming. My chest cracks wide open, my heart swelling with an all-consuming amount of love.

I move at a languid pace, my forehead dropping to hers. Her arms wrap around me and she holds on, and I hold her back.

Our eyes are locked as I slide in and out of her. She’s so wet, the sounds of her arousal meld with our labored breaths.

“You feel incredible,” I moan.

“So do you,” she says, her puffs of hot air pelting my lips.

This is beyond sex, beyond any level of intimacy I thought could be reached.

I never understood the distinction between the various words used to describe sex. But now I understand it in a way I never could have before Ariana.

I give her every part of me I’ve spent years locking away. She takes all of it without hesitation, her body rising to meet mine, her hands moving over my back like she’s trying to memorize me.

I’ve been with lots of women. More than I’m proud of. But I’ve never been known. Never let anyone close enough to see me the way she just did, tear-streaked and raw and broken open—and then looked up to find her still there. Still choosing me.

I kiss her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Moving with her, not just against her. Like we’re the same thing. Like we’re one.