Page 66 of Embrace

Kian:Does the floor help? I need to start doing that when I study.

Scarlett:The floor makes things fun! But you’re probably too massive to sit cross-legged for four hours.

Kian:Four? You can’t study all night, Scar. You have to sleep.

Scarlett:So do you.

Scarlett:If you must know, I’m waiting for the shower rooms to clear so I can unwind in peace.

Kian:Please don’t study all night. Go shower.

Scarlett:Keep telling me what to do. I might need a cold shower.

Kian:Go. Shower.

Scarlett:Why? Do you want a picture?

Heat creeps up my neck, and I hold my breath when I read her texts again. I don’t need another picture; it’s the one in my baggy shirt and her glasses perched on her nose that does me in. My gaze catches her eyes so quickly, they’re all I see. Sometimes I wonder if she notices that my eyes barely move away from her face, that they’ve created a home there.

I like her like this, open. Like she doesn’t feel the need to correctthe innuendos or make every joke run through a checklist of what she’s allowed to say in accordance with the new reputation she’s been chasing.

Kian:I want you to sleep.

When she doesn’t text me again, I put my phone on the dresser. There’s still a lazy smile on my face as I drift off.

Suddenly it’s light in the room, as the moon illuminates a familiar figure. The white of the moonlight bathes her in a soft glow, making the art on her skin come alive.It’s an angel, I think. I’m dreaming of an angel.

She guides her hand over my face, pressing her thumb over my ears. Her fingers comb through my hair, coaxing a moan from me.

Her soft hands trail down to my neck, over my throat, then lower to my pecs. Each slide makes me release a shallow breath, my abs tightening, my body contracting in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

“Kian,” she whispers. The voice disarms me completely, and I’m floating.

“Hmm?”

“Do you like it when I touch you?”

A pathetic “Yes” makes its way past my lips. Her fingers run over my tattoos, outlining a few.

“What about like this?” Then her small hand runs down my abs, lower until they slide below my boxers, holding me in her soft palm before she strokes my cock. Once, twice, then a third time. I’m done for.

“Fuck,” I grind out, pressing a hand over hers as my eyes roll back.

“I like it when you let go,” she purrs. “Let go with me, Kian.”

I can’t speak. I can’t move. All I know is that I’m living my last moments, and I’m okay with that.

A name floats somewhere, waiting for me to catch it. To place it on the softness pressed up against me, to use it to take me where I need to go.

“Let go?”

“Mm-hmm. Can you do that for me?”

“Anything,” I whimper. “I can do anything for you.”

“Then open your eyes,” she whispers, soft as honey. “And look at me.”

My eyes wrench open to glimmering brown eyes, shiny red hair, and a smile as soft as ever.