“What if we lost it?”
His eyes are pleading. “We didn’t. I didn’t. It never left, Paige. Everything I feel is still here.”
It’s a match to the kindling my heart has been holding on to, and I’m ready now, to let him engulf me completely.
“And what is that, exactly?”
Under my hands, Benji’s heart beats fast and strong. I know he feels what I feel—his voice is thick with it when he says, “You’re where my eyes land. Even when I’m not thinking about you, you’re what I think about when I’m trying not to think about anything at all. I keep coming back to you, like home base, like a safe place to land, a comfort zone.”
Giving this a chance is going to take more than a few dates. I’m going to have to—ugh—be vulnerable. What a crock. Can he just know what I need, when I need it? Allthose rugged heroes in love stories do. Psychics, the lot of them.
Real life sucks sometimes.
Snapshots of romance are picture-perfect—rose petals, gift boxes with pretty ribbon bows, guys who pick you up one-handed. It’s an easy recipe—how to melt a heart in fifteen seconds or less.
But what if that’s not romance at all? What if the real stuff looks different? A hand in yours when you’re anxious; the baring of souls; sliding back into bed after a disagreement, toes touching because both of you need to touch.
Maybe it’s as simple as showing up again and again.
Telling you you’re worth it.
Putting in the effort.
Shit.
“Benji, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I see the pain pierce his expression.
“Do what?”
“Miss you. I’m so sick of missing you.”
He’s so beautiful; I can’t take it anymore. I let gravity take me where I want to go and fall against his lips. He reacts instantly, eagerly meeting me, over and over again, licking into my mouth and catching every soft sound I make. God, how did I survive without his lips on mine?
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while you were gone. I just assumed you knew.”
“I hoped. I never stopped thinking about you.”
My breath catches in my chest, but I need him morethan I need air, so I break away long enough to gasp before slamming back into him again. It helps that Benji is as affected as I am, finding the hem of my shirt and slipping his hands underneath, mapping out the soft corners of my skin with undisguised want.
“I hate any day I don’t see you,” I say between kisses. “I’ve stopped myself from walking into your shop a hundred times since you came back.”
“You should have come. I wanted you to.”
I whine into his mouth, “I don’t want to be needy.”
“Fuck, Paige. All I want is for you to need me. Is that bad?”
No,my heart roars.Not to me.
“Maybe?” I whisper in the space between us, but as I start to rock my hips against his, it’s obvious what I really mean. “I hope not. I like hearing it.”
Benji raises his broad hands to grip my hips, pulling me against him. There’s barely any room to move, but we manage what we can, and a tight whimper is punched out of me when I feel him getting hard in his shorts.
“Fuck, I need you,” he breathes as he presses closer and closer, until every hard edge of him meets every soft one of mine.
“Yes.” It’s all I can think.Yes, yes, yes.I punctuate every word with another kiss, grind down into him, my senses lighting up every time he thrusts into me.
