Page 110 of Heal Me, Love Me

“Exactly.” His fingers curled around my sleeve. “I’m not going to promise you a date and then let my shoulder make a liar out of me, but I want to see your life there.”

I covered his hand with mine. “Can I finally kiss you already?”

The moonlight coming through the windshield gave me enough light to catch his grin. “About damn time.”

I leaned across the console and kissed him before either of us could say anything else. The kiss started carefully because of the sling and the space between us, but his good hand caught the front of my hoodie and pulled me closer.

Talking wasn’t going to change anything tonight. Keaton still wasn’t coming to Florida yet, and I was still leaving Sunday. But for a few minutes, I could stop thinking about all of it and focus on the way his mouth felt against mine.

“Back seat,” he whispered against my mouth.

I pulled back. “Your shoulder.”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts.” His hand stayed gripped in my hoodie. “I promise.”

I climbed out first and checked the road. There were no headlights, no voices, only the river beyond the trees and the cold settling around us.

Keaton opened his door and got out slower than he would’ve before, but he didn’t ask for help, and I didn’t offer.

“Lube?” I asked.

“Console.”

“You keep lube in your car?”

“What? You wanted me to keep it in my pocket so your parents could see the outline of the bottle?”

I bit back a laugh. “That would’ve made dinner interesting.”

I took the small bottle and sat in the middle of the back seat with my legs spread as much as the space allowed. Keaton followed, careful with the sling as he got one knee onto the seat, then the other. When he settled over my lap, facing me, there wasn’t enough room for anything except him. For a second, neither of us moved. His thighs bracketing mine, his good hand clutching the back of my neck, and his body over mine again reminded me exactly what I’d been missing for the past month.Then he kissed me again, and I felt how hard he was through his joggers.

I groaned into his mouth and held his hips. “Fuck, baby.”

He rocked against me, slow at first, and the drag of him through our clothes made my head drop back against the seat.

“Still worried about my shoulder?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He rolled his hips again, harder this time, and my grip dug into him.

“Maybe worry less.”

I kissed him before I could say anything else. He opened for me, and I let myself have him—his mouth, his breath, the way his body leaned closer—for a few seconds. Then I slipped my hands under his hoodie to touch the warm skin above his waistband as I dragged my mouth down to his throat. He tipped his head back enough to give me more room, and the sound he made went straight to my cock.

My fingers moved lower, slipping beneath the elastic of his joggers, and he pushed into my hand before I could even get a grip around him.

That was all the permission I needed.

I shoved his pants down enough to free him, and he cursed as I fisted him, his forehead dropping to mine while I stroked his shaft. His hand stayed on the back of my neck, fingers moving into my hair, and every slow grind of his body made my dick ache behind my zipper.

“You’re so fucking hard,” I breathed.

“You’re taking too long.”

I laughed, but it broke when he reached between us and palmed me through my jeans. “Still funny?”

“No.”