Shifting slightly to the side, I drag my knuckles along her bare skin between her shirt and pants. Her muscles tremble under my touch, but she does nothing to slow me down. I pay attention to her cues, cautious to not push her too far when I slowly slip my hand under the hem of her top and begin running it up the span of her stomach. Her breathing grows heavy, and her grip on me tightens when I hit the bottom of her bra. I stop my hand, waiting for her permission, and it’s in this moment that I realize she has her head buried in the crook of my neck.
“It’s okay,” she breathes against my skin, and suddenly, I feel too much.
Dropping my mouth onto her shoulder, I kiss and gently suck along the curve of her neck. When I slide my hand over her breast, she lets out a soft whimper, and I hold her in my hand, feeling the lace against my skin.
“God, you’re perfect,” I whisper against her lips.
When I graze my thumb over her hardened nipple, she pushes her head harder into my shoulder, and I need to see her.
Pulling my head away from her, I say, “Don’t hide from me, babe.”
She’s timid when she lowers her head onto the pillow and opens her eyes. I watch her as I run my fingers along the edge of the lace, touching the smooth skin of her chest. I can see the tension in the crease between her eyes as her brows pinch together. She’s in her head and not here with me. Wanting her to stop thinking so much, I gently squeeze her small breast in my hand, and when I do, she grabs my face and pulls me down, kissing me.
Her legs tangle with mine, but her body is stiff as she keeps still beneath me. Hearing the way she’s breathing though is hot as hell, and I want to feel more of her. So I hook my fingers under the seam of her bra and tug the fabric down, but when I do, her whole body instantly locks up.
“Please, don’t.” Her words come out quick, and I immediately slide my hand out from under her top, and move it to her head, threading my fingers in her hair. “I’m sorry.”
I hate hearing those words from her. I hate that she feels like she’s doing something wrong.
“Look at me,” I say, and the words come out strong. “When we’re together like this, I don’t ever want you to be sorry for anything, okay?”
She nods her head, and I soften my tone with a kiss before telling her again, “I love you, babe.”
I never thought I would say those words to a girl. Never thought I would be able to open myself to being vulnerable enough to feel those emotions, but with her, it comes so easily. I realize now that the hard part was keeping myself so far removed, seeking the disconnect, but with her, I crave the connection. It’s all I want with her.
Chapter Twenty-six
“What are you doing?” I ask when I see Candace walking down the stairs still in her pajamas. “Get that cute, little ass of yours upstairs and change into your running gear. It’s already after seven.”
She walks into the kitchen to where I am and says, “I’m gonna pass,” as she pulls down a coffee mug from the cabinet.
“You passed a couple days ago too. What’s going on?” I ask. Candace loves running, so I don’t get the sudden aversion.
“Nothing,” she says while she stirs the sugar into her coffee and takes it to the living room.
“Not buying it,” I call her out. “What’s up?”
“I can’t tell you,” she says coyly when I sit down next to her as she leans back, propping her legs across my lap.
“You can tell me anything. Now spill it,” I say while I run my hand up her calf and behind her knee. I love these legs.
“Uh uh,” she says with a shake of her head. “You’ll make fun of me.”
“Now I’ve got to know,” I respond with a much too curious grin.
“You can’t tease me. I get enough of that from Mark and Jase.”
“I can’t promise you that, babe. Come on. Out with it. Why won’t you run with me anymore?” I question.
“Because I’m scared,” she says and then quickly takes a conveniently long sip of her coffee.
“Scared of what?”
“We’re almost out of creamer.”
“That’s because you use a crap-load of it. Stop trying to distract me. Scared of what?” I ask again.
She takes a moment, and I can tell she’s trying to hide her grin when she admits, “I’m scared I’m gonna break my leg or something.”
“From running?” I ask as a chuckle slips out under my breath.
Nudging me with her foot, she says, trying to defend, “Yes, from running. It could happen.”
“From running?” I repeat. “Candace, you’re not gonna break your leg. That’s ridiculous.”
“Okay, maybe not a break,” she says when she sets her mug down on the table. “But something could happen. Pulled muscle, strained ligament. That would ruin everything. My audition is in a few weeks, and getting this solo could be the difference between having a job after graduation or not.” Although I find her seriousness amusing, she is, in fact, completely serious.
“Okay, so no running. Well, I’m proud of you for walking down the stairs this morning without any assistance. That was a big risk,” I joke with complete mockery, and this time, when she nudges me, I grab her ankle and shift to move between her legs. “You’re putting your tiny feet in a dangerous situation when you nudge me like that,” I say and then kiss her along the ticklish spot on her neck.