Page 86 of A Little Jaded

Font Size:

Page 86 of A Little Jaded

Lifting the edge of the blanket for me, he adds, “Come on. Let’s get some rest.”

With the glow of the fire, I bring the blanket up to my chest and close my eyes, trying to find sleep.

But I can’t convince my brain to shut off. To let me relax. Not when Everett’s beside me. Not when I can feel him so close.

I face his back, watching his body move up and down with every breath until my own breathing matches it. Not on purpose. It’s like any time I’m around him, we sync. We find our cadence. Our rhythm. And I’m tired of fighting it.

Licking my lips, I whisper, “Hey, Ev?”

The blanket rustles, but he doesn’t face me. “Yeah, Raine?”

“W-why didn’t you peek in the bathroom?”

He rolls onto his side and faces me. “Are you serious?”

“I want to know.”

“I already told you.”

“I’m not a piece of meat,” I repeat his words from earlier.

“Did you want me to look?”

The weight of his words sits on my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. Did I want him to look? I should say no. Obviously. But the truth is…I don’t know. Maybe? Is it so wrong if I kind of did? And what does it mean? What would the fallout be?

I’m so used to walking on eggshells, careful of every single word I say, always keeping my thoughts and feelings close to my chest in hopes of not rocking the boat. Of not causing ripples. But the truth is the idea of saying no. The idea of denying the pull I feel with the man I’m sharing a homemade fort with feels wrong. So damn wrong if I even think of saying that stupid two-letter word in response to his question about whether or not I wanted him to look at me naked makes me sick to my stomach, full of regret. Makes me question my sanity entirely. How could I not want him to look? I’ve already shared one of my most vulnerable partswith the guy, and instead of letting me down, he let me in. He had my back, albeit grudgingly.

“Stormie?” he prods. “Did you want me to look?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, Ev. I think I did.”

A solid ten seconds pass, but I swear it’s more like thirty as the light reflects off his light blue eyes, his expression unreadable. A mask of restraint.

Until…

His movements are slow—controlled—as he rolls on top of me and cages me in, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of my head. He pins me to the ground, and even though I can’t move beneath him, I’m not scared. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt safer.

Bending closer, his breath kisses my lips before his lips follow with a soft caress. My heart soars, and I open my mouth, letting him in as his tongue sweeps against mine. He tastes like mouthwash, and I smile against him. He dives deeper, adding more pressure, turning me into a puddle beneath him.

Clutching at his T-shirt, I tug him closer, loving the feel of him pressed against me as the fire crackles near our feet. It’s sexy and romantic and feels like coming home. Time slows as my pulse races with every touch. Every dip of his tongue. Every caress of his lips.

If this is what a real kiss feels like, I can only imagine what it would feel like to give him everything. Every broken piece, knowing he’s the only one patient enough to put me back together.

An ache builds between my legs, so I shift beneath him, spreading my thighs a few inches. As if he can read my thoughts, he groans against my mouth, tearing his lips away and resting his forehead against mine.

“Storm.”

“Ev.”

“Tell me you want to go to sleep. Tell me this isn’t real. Tell me?—”

“Kiss me again.”

His mouth is on mine in an instant, and I loop my arms around his neck, arching my back off the cushioned ground, spreading my legs fully and hooking them around his waist. It feels good. Having him there. Feeling him there. Feeling him all around. His scent. His heat. His quiet groans and the slight shift of his hips.

A small voice in my head whispers how this is a bad idea. He’ll hurt me the same way Drake did. The same way Drake’s still trying to.

But then I remember how Everett didn’t peek. It’s such a simple thing. A silly thing, really. Proving he isn’t an asshole in the smallest, most insignificant way, yet it holds more weight than he’ll ever understand.




Top Books !
More Top Books

Treanding Books !
More Treanding Books