My muscles tighten, and I hope Jonathan doesn’t mess this up. Because Tremaine is a special kind of writer; and he needs someone who gets what he’s trying to do.
“How’s it going, gentlemen?” he asks.
“It’s going great,” Tremaine says, and I can’t complain about that answer.
Kennedy
I pick listlessly at the slice of cheese pizza, wishing Lane were here to split it with me. I wish I knew what to say to him, but he so clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with me. And now I’m facing the Friendship Executioner once more, only this time it’s my crime—lying—that’s brought me here.
I flash back to Catey, and all we shared. She’s no longer a part of my life, and I’d hate for that to happen to Lane. Hell, Catey is the reason the pizza in front of me doesn’t have pepperoni on it. I start to box up the pizza so I can take it to Lane as a peace offering. But as I quietly run through what to say, I realize I have no idea what words to use.
I don’t have the training in this level of honesty. I shove the pizza to the edge of the table, grab my backpack, and zero in on homework.
Such an indignity to have to finish homework before I see my boyfriend tonight. Doing French translations and calculus equations makes me feel like a kid. But I’m so damn ready to shuck all this and start the next part of my life. The part where I have freedom. When I finish I decide to take a taste of that freedom now, so I jam my computer into my bag, and head to Noah’s.
We barely say a word as I drop my bag inside the doorway, and fall into his arms. He backs me up against the wall, his hands cupping my face as he drops his mouth to mine. The day is gone in his touch. His kisses overwhelm me, they erase the memory of Lane’s dismissal, of his hurt, of his anger. They blot out the whole damn world.
“How was your day?” he whispers as he kisses my neck, his fingers spearing into my hair.
“Crappy,” I say, as I grasp his shirt collar and bring him closer.
“Why?” he asks as he layers kisses along the column of my throat.
“Had an argument with a friend,” I mutter, as his hands find their way under my shirt. I arch into him. The electricity sparking through my veins obliterates the fight with Lane. All I want now is to feel good again, and Noah is the only one who can give me that magic pill.
“What can I do to make you feel better?”
“More of what you’re doing,” I say as I work open the buttons on his shirt. He inhales sharply as I roam my hands over his chest.
“You’re going to make the next ten days incredibly hard,” he says on a groan.
I wiggle my eyebrows. “I know. But I’m up for the challenge.”
“The birthday challenge,” he says, as I take off his shirt and turn him around so his back is to the wall. I bend down to kiss his chest, his abs, and then right there—that line above the waistband of his pants. The taste of his skin drives me wild. I want to know all of him, to touch him in every way, to explore his body with my hands and mouth. Want pulses through me, a deep and powerful desire to cross every line. My fingers dance across his flat stomach; my lips follow, as I kiss him, driven by so much longing. I lose hold of reason as I start to undo his belt.
In a flash, his hands are on mine, stopping me. He tugs me up. “We have to wait,” he says, his voice strained.
“I don’t want to wait any more,” I say, because I’m sure this—sex—would obliterate my crappy afternoon.
“I know,” he says, keeping a tight grip on my overeager hands. “But we promised to wait, and I have something special planned.”
Then he tells me about the restaurant, and the inn, and my heart grows wings and tries to soar out of my chest because it’s all so perfect.
The fact that I’ll have to concoct a new set of lies to spend the night with him doesn’t bother me. I’m so good at lying now, I could teach a class.
The only thing I don’t have to hide is how I feel. Noah is my freedom, so I seek more, in the hope that it will erase the hurt earlier in the day. I bring my hands to his cheeks. “You really won’t let me touch you?” I ask, though I know the answer. I’m merely setting up my next question.
“No.” He shakes his head for emphasis. I’m not entirely sure why me touching him isn’t acceptable, but him touching me is allowed. Maybe there is some unwritten rule that while we crossed one line last night, we can’t cross another. Right now, I’m perfectly content with that ruling because my body is selfish.
My body wants.
I have only kissed one other boy in my life, and while Noah and I mastered kissing long ago, last night with him was like an awakening, unleashing a deep craving inside of me. The floodgates have been opened.
“Would you think I’m terribly greedy if I wanted you to make me…” I start, but I can’t breathe the final words out loud yet. So I cup my hand over his ear and whisper the rest of my request.
Come again.
His breath hitches, giving me the answer I already knew. “You know I will. You know you’re all I want,” he says, and his voice feels hot, betraying his desire that he can’t hide any longer. Somehow, I am his weakness, I am his tipping point, I am the exception for him. “You are my everything,” he whispers.
I lower my hand to his, and guide him where I want him.
“You can be greedy with me, anytime, K,” he says, and he unbuttons my pants. His fingertips brush against my skin. My heart stutters and my body aches to be closer. To be felt. To be caressed into that liquid, heated, dreamy state.