Page 66 of Run To You
My heart does that embarrassing gallop thing, but I don’t let on. “She’s staying over until the race this weekend. We’ve got another charity run.”
I don’t know why I’m telling Gran that.
“Are you dressing up?” Gran’s eyes go cartoon-wide. “Your mum’s been sending me photos of all your costumes. Bloody brilliant, love.”
“It’s fun, and we all have a giggle.” I smile, remembering some of the daft shit we’ve dressed up in.
“As it should be! Now, if you’re okay, I’ll head back to your parents. Your grandad will want to take his morning walk soon, and the silly old sod insists I go with him.”
I follow her, ignoring the way my nose stings with the threat of more tears. At the door, she stops and turns, drawing me into a rib-crushing hug. For someone made of sinew and old lady bones, she hugs like a linebacker.
“Look after yourself. And make sure you paint,” she whispers, barely audible.
“I’ll try.”
She kisses my hair and lets me go, then disappears down the hall to the elevator.
It’s only after the click of the door that I realise Sloane’s awake, standing in the kitchen, arms folded and watching me with the softest smile.
“She’s amazing,” Sloane says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “She really is.”
Sloane opens her arms, and I don’t even hesitate. I go straight to her, and she holds me with such confidence, I allow myself one last mini breakdown before sorting myself out.
Back in my room, Sloane places two coffee mugs on the bedside table and ushers me back to bed.
“You need some more sleep,” she says softly. I can’t argue because it’s true. Also, she’s just lowered my head to her chest and let’s be honest, I’m not moving away from her boobs.
The fatigue and icky feeling I woke up with is gone. Maybe it’s the fact Gran reassured me she’d be okay, or that Sloane is here with me now. I think about Gran telling me not to let fear stop me from giving Sloane my all, and suddenly, with glaring clarity, I know that no matter what Sloane does in the future, she’ll always be the one for me. She could shatter my heart all over again, and I’d still wait for her to run back to me. Because I know she would. I knewit in high school, and I believe it now. We were made for each other.
A rush of love pulses through my veins, and I can’t help but pull closer to her. My hands grip her body, and my head turns so I can nuzzle into her neck. I’ve missed her touch so badly. I don’t want to go slow anymore. I want to do the opposite. I want to catch up to where we should be by now. Living together, planning our future. Making love in our bed.
I can certainly make one of those things happen right now if Sloane wants it, and the subtle shifting of her hips makes me believe she does.
Without uttering a word, I let my hand roam over her body until it reaches her breast. Her nipple is already hard, and I have to grit my teeth not to rip off her sleepwear with them.
Sloane’s eyes flicker, a hot-blooded mix of surprise and want, and…relief? Like she hoped I’d make the first move. Without even thinking about it, I slide my palm up under her shirt. Her skin’s warm and sleep-silk soft, and when I stroke my thumb over the peak of her nipple, she makes a sound I’ve never heard from her before. It’s a desperate, almost wounded gasp, and it burrows into mybrain. That sound tells me how much she’s missed me…missed this.
“You’re killing me,” she gasps. It sounds like both a warning and a wish.
I laugh a little because I’m nervous, but I can’t stop myself, so I don’t. Instead, I push the hem of the shirt up, and she helps, arms raised, letting it pool onto the sheets. I don’t even bother looking. I’ve memorised every inch of her body since high school, and even if it’s a little changed since then, it’s still her, and still perfect.
Sloane’s arms are strong from all the athletics she’s done for years, strong enough to pin me if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. She lets me take the lead, lets me stare, lets me run my hands over her ribs and down. When I duck my head to taste her skin, she shudders so hard the bed moves enough to knock the bedside tables, making the coffee mugs almost spill over.
For a second, I think we’ll have to stop to clean up a mess, but we don’t, and now my mouth is full of Sloane’s skin, and her hands are tangled in my hair. Her body is arching up, pressing herself into my mouth. She moans out loud, my name loudest of all, and it’s like every cell in my body is on fire.
I could stay here for hours, but her hands get greedy, and she tugs me up by my hair. The kiss she gives me is rough, almost clumsy, and laced with whatever she needs to tell me but can’t say yet, not with words. It’s so raw and hungry I almost cry all over again, but she catches my chin and kisses away anything left of sadness.
“Are you sure?” she asks, her breath wild, but her eyes on mine.
I lick my lips and nod. “I need you, Sloane. Please.”
She growls, honest to god growls, and flips us so I’m on my back, hair everywhere, shirt half-off, body burning with the need to be close. Sloane’s hands roam down my body, memorising me like she’s been dreaming of this, and I think she has. She stops at my hips and hooks her fingers in the waistband of my sleep shorts.
“Can I?” she whispers.
“You better,” I say, and she laughs, so pure and beautiful it makes me dizzy.
