Page 106 of Zach
too long, only pulling away when Zach licks his lips again.
“You’re dehydrated,” I whisper to our hands. His slight startle ripples through our hands.
“Right, yeah, I am.” He pulls away slowly, his body trapping me against the cabinet as he tries
and fails to reach up.
A giggle escapes because this is ridiculous. His head bows, and he grins. “Can you get me a
glass, please?”
I nod and turn, reaching for the handle. I expect him to move back, to give me some space, but
instead, he does the opposite, moving the tiniest bit closer so I can feel the warmth of him all along
my back. My fingers tighten on the knob as I battle with myself. My instincts are telling me to push
back into him, so I can feel all of him, but that little voice is telling me to get the hell out of here, to
escape back to my apartment and hide under the covers.
But I’ve done that too many times. Run away, hid from sensation, from fear, from anxiousness.
Any emotion other thanfinewas to be feared, to be avoided at all costs. Today, right now, I don’t
want to listen to that voice.
I want to feel.
Drawing in a breath, my chest expanding, I pull open the cupboard and reach for a glass. As I pull
it down, I casually lean my body back into him, and I’m rewarded by a barrage of sensations. We both
freeze as our bodies are pressed together, his chest to my upper back, his thick thighs to my ass. I
swear he’s radiating fire as a full-body sweat breaks out.
I’d rather burn than pull away.
I want to feel all of it. The heat at my back, the low-level shiver running through my body. All of
it.
A tiny whimper escapes me as Zach’s cheek rubs against the top of my head, then travels down
until his mouth is tucked right next to my ear. “Fill it,” he rumbles. I feel the words more than hear
them. I stare blankly down at the glass clutched in my hands, honestly wondering what he’s talking
about.
“Water,” I gasp, darting my eyes around the room, trying to remember where water comes from.
Thankfully, before I can make too big a fool of myself, I spot the sink a few feet away. I pull the glass
into my chest as I contemplate the distance. I’m not ready to lose this connection between us, but I
want to help him, to take care of him, even if it’s only by getting him something to drink.
