Page 93 of Call You Mine
She looks up at me, staring at me as if to memorize. “I told you, I don’t share.” I watch as her eyes roam my features, falling to my lips for a second before moving back up to my eyes. “Even if this whole thing between us is for pretend and will all end in a few weeks.”
I shake my head. “I think it’s more than that. It’s like I said tonight, I know who I belong to.” Her lips part, and it looks like she’s about to say something, but I don’t let her. Not yet. “And there’s nothing fakeortemporary about that.”
Putting it out in the open has my stomach in knots, and I think the world around me stops, waiting to hear what she’s about to say.
The lights are off except for the faint glow sneaking through the gap in the curtains, just enough to outline her across from me. The hotel room feels smaller than it did fiveminutes ago, the air heavier, like the walls are leaning in to listen.
I can’t see her expression clearly, but I can feel her eyes on me in the dark. My pulse ticks louder with every second that passes, stretching the silence until it’s almost unbearable.
“Why would you say that?” she asks softly.
There’s no accusation in it. Just something careful. Curious.
“Because it’s true.”
The words hang there between us.
For a second, neither of us moves.
“Fuck it,” she whispers, more to herself than to me, and before I can ask her what she means, her lips crash into mine, and it says more than any words could.
It isn’t careful. Not tentative. It’s the kind of kiss that feels like it’s been waiting to happen for a long time.
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, gripping the fabric like she’s afraid I might disappear if she lets go. I slide my other hand up her arm, feeling the tension in it, the slight tremble that tells me she’s just as wrecked by this as I am.
My hands go to her hips, grabbing on to her hard enough to leave bruises. She loops her arms around my neck and pulls me flush against her as I press her up against the wall.
As her lips move against mine, as I swallow her soft moans, it is confirmed that this moment makes all the waiting, all the loving her from afar, completely worth it. Breathing becomes inconsequential; the only thing I need right now is feeling her mouth on mine.
I haven’t kissed her since that night back in February—even then, and during our other stolen nights, she never let me kiss her for too long, always pulling away just when we were on the precipice of falling—admitting that kissing each other is enough for us to get lost with no way of ever finding our way out.
As my lips move against hers, my body reacts with a sense of urgency.
My hands move from her hips to her lower back, molding her body into mine as much as I can, so I never forget what it feels like.
Her fingers move up the back of my neck and into my hair, pulling tightly, the slight sting of my scalp like oxygen to the fire inside me.
My tongue slides against her bottom lip, asking politely for access.
I need to taste more of her.
My mind just keeps repeating the mantra:more, more, more.
Even thoughmorewill never be enough.
My bottom lip gets caught between her teeth, and the growl that comes out of me just makes her bite harder.
And then it stops.
I open my eyes just in time to see her take a step back, her hand going to her swollen lips, her eyes both hazy with lust and widened with worry—regret?—and, against my better judgment, I reach for her, only for her to slightly shake her head.
I can almost see the thoughts in her brain moving faster than she can keep up with, getting lost in her own head, the longer we just look at each other.
My lips part to tell her to talk to me, to tell me everything that’s on her mind, to give it to me, so she doesn’t have to worry about it alone anymore.
I’m ready to plead, get down on my knees and beg.
I don’t know how I’m going to sleep another night in the same room as Ava, just feet away from her, when we both know there’s room in that bed for the both of us.
