“Then why are you hiding from me?”
That hits right where I try to bury it every damn day.
I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingertips brush the side of her neck, caressing over the hickey I left there.
“I’m not hiding from you,” I say softly. “I’m hiding from the part of me that wants more.”
“More… what?” she whispers.
I swallow hard.
“More mornings,” I confess. “More… us.”
Her eyes widen, every hint of playful confidence fading into something raw and fragile.
“Reed…”
“I know I shouldn’t want you like that,” I continue, still caressing the side of her neck. “Not while you’re still tied to someone, but you…” I pull in a shaky breath. “You feel like a life I never thought I could have again.”
She moves closer to me, her hands rising to rest on my chest. My heartbeat falters beneath her palms.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she admits. “About... anything. About me.”
I huff out a rough laugh. “No one does. I don’t let them.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “You let me,” she whispers.
Fuck. I do.
I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me; nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
“You scared the hell out of me last night,” I tell her. “Because when I touched you, it didn’t feel like something I should forget in the morning.”
She sucks in a breath, exhaling as she stands on her tippy toes, looping her hands around my neck. “I don’t want to forget it either.”
I lean in, not quite kissing her as my lips brush her cheek, then the corner of her lips.
Her breath comes fast, matching mine. She tilts toward me instinctively, as if we’ve done this a thousand times.
I mumble against her lips. “Tell me you want more.”
Her fingers slide up, threading into my hair, a whisper of a tug that nearly buckles my knees.
“Yes,” she exhales. “I want... everything we’re not supposed to want.”
I close my eyes for a beat.
Hope hurts, but she’s worth the pain.
Before I can steal the kiss I’m craving, voices draw nearer from the living room; laughter and footsteps heading our way.
We break apart just enough to look innocent, just enough tolie. But her hand stays in mine, hidden between our bodies, as if she can’t bring herself to let go.
Neither can I.
layla
. . .
