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72
Oh God. Oh no. What have I done?
I have to save this. Find a way to rewind, and let him know, without a doubt, that—
A red hot flame of embarrassment streaks up my neck. And in a desperate bid to fill up the silence, a flurry of words rushes out of me so quickly, I’m not even sure where I’m going.
“What I meant to say is, I’ve um, I’ve missed ourfriendship. And spending time in your company. And…” My voice fades. I close my eyes and shake my head.
Spending time in your company? What the actual hell is wrong with me?
There’s a hand-knotted antique Persian rug at my feet, and I’d give anything in this moment to sink right through the wool threads, tunnel deep into the earth, and never resurface.
But when I feel the tip of Braxton’s index finger pressing against the underside of my chin, I open my eyes to find his beautiful face looming before me. And the way he looks at me, his gaze so warm, kind, and inviting, makes me wonder if I might’ve misread his earlier reaction.
“I’ve missed spending time with you, too,” he says, voice gravelly and deep. “But I’m here now. In whatever capacity you want me.”
Without another word, I pitch onto my toes, press my body to his, and kiss him in a way that reveals all the desire and yearning that’s stored up inside me. Because a month without kissing Braxton felt like eternity.
And when he meets the kiss with a craving that surpasses my own, I draw him to my bed, where I pull him down alongside me and revel in the sheer luxury of being reunited with him, touching him, kissing him once again.
I kiss him on his forehead, his cheek, that irresistible bend in his nose, my body thrumming with all the wanting I’ve held back for so long. And while it’s true what I said about missing him, while not a single day has passed without me longing for his touch, I’m also glad for the break. If for no other reason than it allowed me to prove I’m capable of making it here on my own.
Which means Braxton’s not just some beautiful boy I kiss to get back at Elodie or ward away loneliness.
Braxton is the only boy I’ve ever truly wanted to be with.
Our lips push together—wild and breathless. The sort of deep, desperate, tongue searing kisses meant to make up for all the time that we lost.
He rolls onto me then, centering his body over mine, then lays siege to my mouth, my neck, the lobe of my ear. His lips leave a trail of sparks in their wake as I grasp hold of his shoulders and arch my body hard against his.
How many lonely nights did I lull myself to sleep imagining the playful scrape of his teeth at my neck, the heat of his fingers sweeping over my flesh? And I can tell by the urgent roll of his hips, the insistent brush of his thumbs as they skim along the bend of my waist, over my rib cage, before lingering at the curve of my breasts, that he feels exactly the same.
I dip my hands beneath his soft cashmere sweater, my palms skating along the inviting expanse of his skin, drawing a series of leisurely loops at his navel that sets his heart drumming so hard, I can feel it thrashing under his chest.
A deep groan sounds in his throat as we press our foreheads together, drawing heated breaths into each other as though we are one. “Tasha,” he gasps, sounding my name from lips that soon return to a crushing feverish grind against mine, before skimming their way down my throat. “You have no idea how I’ve missed you,” he says.
Between the push and pull of his kiss and the sweet rhythmic circling of our hips, I don’t ever want this to end. I only want more. More of us. More of him. But just as I start to unleash the sash on my robe, Braxton pulls my hand away and clasps it firmly in his.
“Tasha, wait. Just—” The words are ragged, conflicted, leaving me to wonder if this is about consent. Because I think I’ve made it perfectly clear that I am in full agreement with everything that’s happening here.
My hands reach for his face, desperate to bring him back to me, but Braxton pulls away until he’s sitting fully upright on my bed. “First, there’s something I need to tell you,” he says.
I nod, needing him to just say it already so we can pick up where we left off.
“You don’t have to do this.” His eyes bore into mine.
“But I want to,” I whisper, blinking at him in confusion. “I want to be with you—” I reach for his hand, shameless in my desire for him. I want everything—all that I can take—all that he’s willing to give. And in return—
He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. He’s clearly upset about something, but I can’t imagine what it could be. “Listen,” he says. “Aside from your birthday, there’s another reason I came here tonight.” The warmth in his eyes swiftly dims, becoming a perfect match for his tone. “And I’m afraid I need to say it now, for the simple reason that you may not like what you hear.”
