Page 92 of These Secret Years

His lips meet mine before I can get another word out, and my mouth opens instantly. When his tongue strokes mine, it’s almost like he’s saying he wants me too, and what I was about to say. That I want something real—just one more night—to feel something good. Anything.

The kiss deepens, and I do part my legs, inviting him to slide a knee between them. He does, getting closer, putting a hand on my neck, kissing me so well, I can’t help but touch myself as my dick grows erect. I toss my empty bottle backward, over the side of the truck to free up both my hands and drag him closer. I get my arms around him, and within another several seconds we’re lying down, legs tangled, tongues licking and tasting, hands roaming.

I get that some people have chemistry, and some don’t. I also get that attraction and want sometimes don’t follow any rules, but with Knight, it’s just—so intense. We’re both so hard. So hungry for each other. Our clothed erections are doing almost as much work as our tongues as we continue to make out. He’s making those soft whimpering sounds, and I’m already in moaning territory. Fuck. Nothing feels this good. No one else can do this to me.

Will anyone else ever be able to make me feel like this?

I can’t think about that. Knight is a fantasy, and I have to enjoy him while he lasts because nothing about him is forever, and I hate that for both of us. My hand is under his shirt, moving back and forth across his left pec, over and over his hard nipple that he’s pressing against my hand. Our hips are firmly glued together, and we’re grinding in a dangerous rhythm.

Finally, I put a hand on his waist—I’m too close, and I turn my head, tearing my lips away from his. “Slow down,” I pant. “I need to slow down.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, pressing his face to my neck, but not kissing me there. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

So does he. More memories I thought I’d lost forever reconstruct themselves at the scent of him so close. My cock throbs, and I swear his does too at the same time. I take a deep breath, staring up at the dimming sky and praying for endurance. “Do you think you could…”

“What?”

“Fuck me?”

“Seriously?”

“You don’t have to—I just—never mind, I⁠—”

His mouth slams into mine again, and he rolls on top of me, pressing himself up on his arms so our dicks are at least separated. “Yes,” he blurts. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Yes.”

I can’t help it. I’m surprised, and it definitely shows. “Really?”

“I missed you so fucking much,” he says like this should be obvious.

“But we only agreed to⁠—”

“We don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. I really want to.”

He stares down at me, studying what feels like every pore on my face. “I haven’t done it since…like I’m sorry if it sucks or doesn’t measure up⁠—”

“It won’t suck.” It never does with us, and thank God I manage somehow not to say that. I also get a very good kiss for what I did say, but it’s short as his mouth leaves mine to suck at my neck. I arch toward his tongue. I’m not sure a reputable therapist would approve, but if I can use this night to let Knight Winters reclaim my body, I might actually survive the summer—another fall.

“How do you want me?”

My spinning thoughts and my aching arousal make the question sound like such a trick. How do I want Knight? I want him all around me. On top. Inside. Wrapped up. I want to feel all his goodness and all the want that stupid asshole who hurt him took for granted. I want to hold him so close—so close nothing could possibly get between us. All I manage to whisper is his name as he sucks what feels like a mark into my neck.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against the wet, cool skin. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“I want…to take off my clothes.” I say instead of what I really want, although being naked is part of it.

We help each other strip. I push down his shorts while he peels off his t-shirt revealing every inch of the college athlete he is. All hard planes and ridges and silvered stretch marks around the biggest muscles in his shoulders and chest. I run a hand over his bare pecs and ask, “Do you wax, too?” I sound so stupid. So awestruck, like I’ve never seen a naked guy or him.

The tan beneath my hand deepens with a flush. “Laser,” he says self-consciously. “I started before freshman year.”

I examine his upper body as my fingers trail down his bare arms. “Here, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Not the legs, though, right?”

“Do we need to get into this right now? It’s embarrassing.”