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I’m unsure if I can handle this intense truth time we’ve veered into, so I twist around to avoid his gaze, my thoughts a mess of emotions.
“I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable,” he apologizes quietly.
“You’re not. It’s just weird hearing you say stuff like that because when I look back at it, I thought you just saw me as a friend. Then Reece tells me he wanted to ask me to a dance once, and now you’re telling me you wanted to see me naked and then some. It’s all so confusing.”
“It might make more sense once you hear the truth about everything.” He slowly drags the zipper down as his breath feathers across my back. By the time he gets it unzipped, we’re both a mess of desperate breathing.
“There’s still a few clasps at the bottom,” I explain, my tone as unstable as my legs.
He says nothing, but he undoes the clasps one by one.
The front of my dress falls down, and I reach to hold it up, but he places a kiss against the arch of my neck, and I stop.
“Blaise,” I whisper as he marks my flesh with another press of his lips.
“I can stop,” he whispers, his fingers molding around my waist. “I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
I should stop this. I should, but …
I don’t want to.
I can admit that to myself—that I want Blaise.
Before everything was ruined between the four of us, I had crushes on all of them. I never acted on them, and never planned to. I often told myself it was merely an attraction because they were hot.
The brutal truth is that I fell for them way harder than I’ll ever admit.
And I fell for Blaise first.
It’s why it hurt so badly when they shattered me. Because I think, deep down, they were the only people I’ve ever loved, and I believed they loved me, too.
Maybe they did.
Maybe all of this torment for the last three years was for love.
That’s what I try to convince myself of as I lean into Blaise.
When he touched me in the dressing room, it felt so wonderfully amazing. I desperately crave that again, to go to that place where reality doesn’t exist, if only for a moment.
As he kisses my neck for a third time, I reach around, take his hands, and place them on my breasts.
He groans as he slides his hands under the edges of my bra and brushes his fingers across my nipples. When I whimper, he pauses.
“Are you okay?” he asks, breathing loudly.
“Yes … yes … yes …” I murmur, my fingers curling around one of his hands and guiding it down my stomach to the top of my panties.
A groan escapes his lips. “You want me to touch you again, like I did in the dressing room?”
I bob my head up and down. “Yes, please.”
Slowly, his fingers dip into my panties. The first graze of his fingers causes a fumbling breath to flee from my lips. Then he slips a finger inside me, and the ability to even breathe floats away.
A gasp fumbles from my lips as my head falls back against the curve of his shoulder. He places his other hand against my cheek and angles my face upward until our gazes collide. With a brief pause, he dips his lips and devours me with a soul-searing kiss, his tongue tangling. He slips another finger inside me.
For a faltering instant, memories prickle to the surface, but I kiss him more fiercely as my hand snakes up and wraps around the back of his neck. I play with the soft, dark locks of his hair as we continue to kiss.
His hand returns to my breast, and he gently pinches my nipple. I whimper, our lips disconnecting as stars spot my vision.
