“I want to feel your fingers,” she pleaded. “Please, touch me.”
My mouth moved down to claim her breast while my fingers slipped beneath her underwear to her very slick center. Her skin was silky smooth and—fuck me—she was completely bare. I closed my eyes in an attempt to calm my racing heart, which was pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.
She arched her back with wild abandon as my finger swept deep within her. I urged another finger inside, and my thumb stayed on her swollen nub, swirling and rubbing, as her eyes glazed over. She was close and so was I, from the pure arousal of watching her.
All it took was a few more swipes of my thumb. As she let herself go, shuddering and gasping, I fused my mouth to hers, absorbing her sounds. She cupped my ass and continued tugging me toward her. I ground my dick against her soft center a few more times, completely on the edge of losing my fucking mind.
“Come for me, Kai.” The sound of her voice urging me on was all that it had taken. I buried my face in her neck as I came hard.
“Holy fuck.” I sank down in a heap, making sure not to crush her.
“Yeah, no shit,” she said, as her palm swiped over the mess I’d made on her stomach.
I retrieved a handful of tissues from the box of Kleenex on my nightstand and did my best to clean her up as she lay panting and staring up at me.
Her finger traced over the flesh of my bottom lip, and then she lifted up to place a soft and intimate kiss on my mouth. Her eyes stayed open, and I saw tenderness and affectionate reflected in them.
I lay down beside her and pulled her body into mine. We stayed silent for a few long moments, only listening to our breaths. When she went lax against me, I knew that she’d fallen asleep.
I wouldn’t be able to doze off for another solid hour at least, so I’d make certain to wake her in time. But for now, it sure felt fucking sweet having Rachel curled up in my bed.
Chapter Eighteen
Rachel
I was meeting Miles again tonight and this time was going to be different, I could feel it. He’d been biding his time, saving himself up. Maybe even seeing if I was too delicate to hear it. So I’d decided to meet him in a public place where I felt comfortable and would have my friends for support if I needed them. Most evenings, the casino was noisy and crowded, so it may not have been the perfect location to have a serious conversation. But alone in a quiet restaurant over dinner felt too romantic, and I was already anxious enough.
Miles and I had gotten together by ourselves only one other time—at the FroYo place near Pure. Again, it had been quiet and ordinary. Almost humdrum. I’d begun to question what in the hell we’d ever had in common. He claimed he had stuff to say to me, but yet again, he never did.
Then his text came last night.
Miles: Meet up again? I really need to get some things off my chest.
Rachel: You’ve had plenty of opportunity, Miles.
Miles: I know I have. I was just . . . giving you time to get comfortable around me again.
Me: ???
Miles: I wanted to see what it would be like to hang with you. To spend time getting to know you again. See what there still was between us.
Me: WTF? Pretty sure we’re not on the same wavelength. I only met up with you so you could say what you needed to say. NOT to be in each other’s space again. You can’t make that decision for me. I swear to God, Miles, you need to get on with it. Spill it or be on your way. This is absolutely the last time I will be meeting with you. Got that?
Miles: Got it. And I agree.
I figured if he held back yet again, then I would be the one to say good-bye. Three times would be enough closure for me.
He was lucky I was even giving him this chance. But I had to admit, I was still curious about what he had to say.
Dakota and Kai were at work, so I got ready alone in the apartment. I kept dropping my mascara wand in the sink as I prayed that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself by dressing in the outfit Dakota had insisted I wear. Had I been at the university prepping for a frat party with the girls, I would have worn my sexiest shirt, my tightest jeans, and swiped on one more coat of mascara. I pleaded for that confident and carefree mind-set now.
I had wondered for hours on end what in the hell Miles could possibly have to confess. Even though I felt stronger each time I saw him, I was afraid continued contact with him might finally break the dam keeping my emotions at bay. Would wreck me all over again. I actually questioned if these past three years were only a precariously placed Band-Aid over my heart and whether I’d done any real healing after all.
What if I only thought that I’d become stronger, self-possessed, and secure in my own skin? Maybe my supposed healing was a ticking time bomb, like the carefully monitored pressure in my brain, threatening to boil over at any moment. Be my undoing. Take me to my final grave.