Текст книги "After Tonight "

Автор книги: Annie Kelly

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter Twelve

The Power of Distraction

Four more weeks. Four more weeks. Four more weeks.

This is my new mantra. I just have to get through the next month. Yesterday afternoon, I met with Caroline for my second evaluation and she assured me that everyone was pleased with my performance.

“You’re going to be a great teacher, Hyacinth,” she’d said, patting my hand. “You just need to believe in yourself.”

I’d nodded and smiled, pretending that I was completely focused on the words she was saying and not the memory of Smith’s mouth and hands and body on mine.

For the remainder of my student teaching, Caroline assigns me to lunch duty, which is both good and bad. It’s good because it’s a distraction—it prevents me from zoning out and thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about while I eat my bologna and cheese sandwich.

It’s bad, however, because I’ve been assigned to the first lunch shift—the shift Smith attends. Since he’s only a half-day attendee, he’s been lumped in with the open campus students who go to the community college in the afternoon. The work-study program eats on first lunch, too, so the cafeteria gets pretty crowded.

I’m sitting at the faculty table, watching a group of sophomores conduct some sort of disgusting snack cake eating contest, when a tray clatters onto the table next to my brown-bag lunch. I look up, and Jeremy Christopher smiles down at me before plopping on the bench.

“Hey, fellow lunch-duty buddy.” He nudges my arm with his elbow. “Nice to see you out and about—you usually eat lunch alone.”

I smile back at him. “I usually grade through lunch—I can get a lot done with a half hour of peace and quiet. But I suppose I couldn’t have a full teaching experience without witnessing the cafeteria in all its glory.”

I gesture to the Tastykake table, and Jeremy makes a face.

“Well, then maybe getting assigned to chaperone lunch is a good thing,” he says before digging into his spaghetti.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as he chews and swallows. There’s something about Jeremy that’s just rich—like he’s stronger than he seems based on the depth of his features. I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t have noticed this about him before—except, of course, for the fact that my eyes and attention have been completely preoccupied with another guy. Maybe—maybe it’s time for me to be a little less concerned about Smith Asher and a little more open to . . . other options.

“Is there something on my face?”

Shit.

“No—sorry. I just zoned out there for a minute.”

His mouth twitches with a tiny smile and he digs back into his noodles.

“Would it embarrass you, Hyacinth,” he says slowly, “if I said that you can stare at me for as long as you want?”

I look over at him and raise an eyebrow. He gives a little shrug.

“Just saying.”

He takes a big bite of his food, then glances around the room. I suppose I should probably be doing that, too, considering I’m supposed to be keeping my eye on things. I look over the crowds of students—some at tables, some standing in line for their lunch—and I pretend like I’m not looking for someone specific.

At least, not until my eyes fall on him.

Smith’s standing with Cherry again, and I can feel my lip begin to curl. Jeremy takes one look at my face, then follows my gaze.

“Oh—that girl.” He rolls his eyes. “She sure can pick ’em, huh?”

I bite down on the inside of my bottom lip and try to steady my voice. “What do you mean?”

His eyebrows rise a bit and he takes a sip from his water bottle. “What? You don’t know the deal with Smith Asher?”

I give a little shrug. “I guess not.”

He snorts a little, then shakes his head. “I don’t know him all that well, but his brother, Eric, seems to think he’s on a bad path.”

“Eric? He’s the—uh—SRO, right?” I ask in what I hope is a casual tone.

Jeremy nods.

“Yep. Apparently, Smith is a big fuckup—trouble with the law and all that. I’m pretty sure he’s been arrested before.”

I bristle at this. Sure, Smith had told me that there were some brushes with the law in his past. But, I wouldn’t call him a fuckup by any stretch.

“I’ve never seen that side of him,” I say, hoping I sound indifferent. “That doesn’t sound like the Smith I know.”

Fantastic. This just keeps getting better and better.

“So, Hyacinth . . .”

I glance over at Jeremy and he leans in a little closer.

“I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, go out sometime. With me.”

I blink at him. Then I blink again. It’s the last thing I expected him to say.

“I mean, I know you’re busy with student teaching and you’ve got a lot going on—I just thought maybe we could get dinner or something.”

I force myself to consider the offer. I’ve been so embroiled in drama and ridiculous Smith Asher nonsense, Maybe I should let myself have some fun. Go on a date with someone who actually has a high school diploma. And actually hasn’t, apparently, been to jail.

“I’d like that,” I finally say quietly. “To go to dinner, I mean.”

“Sweet!” Jeremy’s brown eyes light up from within and he grins at me. “Are you free Friday?”

I pluck a pretzel out of my plastic bag. “Yeah, actually, I am.”

“Then it’s a date.” He suddenly stands up and gives me a little wink. I can’t help but smile as he strolls out of the cafeteria, then shake my head. He is charming, I will give him that. And a nice distraction.

But when the bell rings to end lunch and students begin pour out of the cafeteria doors, I find myself locking eyes with Smith again. He’s coming closer and, when he’s a few feet from me, he narrows his eyes.

“So you and Mr. Christopher, huh?” he says under his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter. Smith snorts.

“Please. You were practically sitting on his lap and dry humping him.”

I stiffen and start to move away, but he blocks my path.

“He’s a tool.”

I glare at him.

“At least he’s not a student,” I say, practically spitting the words.

I try not to think about him watching me as I walk away. I try not to think about my exit as a retreat. Instead, I hold my head up and force myself to move slowly through the crowd of students. I need to put as much space between me and Smith as possible.

Somehow, I don’t think it’ll ever be enough.

***

“Cheers!”

Rainey holds up her cocktail, and Carson and I follow suit. We all take long sips of the sweet-and-salty drink.

“Man, whoever thought of Margarita Mondays is a genius,” Carson says, glancing around the La Tolteca dining room in approval. She grins at me as I go in for a second sip.

“That night at Cave really opened you up to drinking liquor, Cyn.” Rainey nudges my shoulder. “First it’s margaritas, next it’s moonshine.”

I roll my eyes at her, then take another drink.

“So, how’s the jailbait working out?” she asks me, waggling her eyebrows. I bark a laugh.

“First of all, he’s twenty—totally not jailbait.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Carson says, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. “That’s just semantics.”

“Secondly,” I continue, leaning back in my chair, “I’ve got a date on Friday night with a teacher who is decidedly not jailbait, and who seems to like me a lot. So there.”

Rainey rubs some of the salt off the rim of her glass. “Oh, yeah? Tell us about him.”

I reach for the basket of chips. “His name’s Jeremy—he’s a science teacher.”

“And?”

I frown. “And what?”

Carson sort of squints at me, her dark eyes narrowed as though she’s attempting to solve a riddle.

“And—is he hot? Is he doable? Do you see yourself wearing panties on this date or will that just prevent the inevitable from happening sooner?”

I roll my eyes. “Right—because I do a lot of hooking up at restaurants with guys I barely know.”

Rainey shrugs.

“Apparently you do a lot of hooking up at bars with guys you barely know. Or was Smith just an exception to your rule?”

I glare at her. “I’m not discussing this again.”

“So, you’re going on a date with Jeremy,” Carson interrupts. “And that’s great. But, come on, Cyn—we have to ask.”

“Ask what?”

“About Smith.”

I crunch down on a chip. “What about him?”

Carson shrugs. “I dunno—I guess I sort of thought that there might be something there, you know?” It’s my turn to shrug.

“He’s an twenty-year-old high school student, Cars. You hold him up next to Jeremy—college educated, full-time employed, clean cut—and it isn’t really a contest.”

“Yeah, but who’s the winner,” Rainey mutters under her breath. I pretend to ignore her, then gulp down more of my margarita.

“Okay, moving on,” I say. “I want to talk about us. It’s a little over a month away from graduation and we haven’t even talked about this summer. I think we should take a trip or something to celebrate our master’s degrees.”

“Oh, a trip!” Rainey nods enthusiastically. “I will definitely need some good beach time after graduation.”

I glance at Carson, who is uncharacteristically quiet as she fiddles with a lime wedge that’s soaking the edge of her cocktail napkin.

“What do you think, Cars?” I ask her. “Cancun in June? You know how I feel about rhyming.”

She gives me a wan smile, then looks down at her lap.

“I need to tell you guys something.”

Her expression is too serious for this to be anything good. Carson licks her lips nervously and I can see her clenching her hands into fists.

“What’s up?” Rainey asks, her brow furrowed. Carson clears her throat.

“I’m not graduating this spring.”

I blink at her, then shoot a look at Rainey, whose mouth has sort of dropped open.

“What are you talking about?”

Carson sighs.

“When I decided not to student teach this spring, I gave up on my last required credits. I thought I might be able to make them up some other way, like through a class or something. But I missed Drop/Add and the registrar wouldn’t let me into a course retroactively.”

She takes a sip of her drink.

“So, sure, we can go to the beach—but it won’t be a post-graduation celebration for me, that’s all.”

For a long moment, we’re all quiet.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I finally ask her.

“I didn’t want to bum you all out.” She gives us a self-deprecating smile. “Look, this is my deal. I’ve got to handle it. I’m going to go back in the fall—hopefully do my student teaching then—and graduate in December. It really isn’t that huge of a deal.”

I nod slowly, wanting to be supportive.

“Well, that sounds like a good plan.”

I scoot over and give her a one-armed squeeze around her shoulders. “I wish you’d told us before, Cars. Seriously.”

She half shrugs and reaches for a handful of chips.

“I know—I guess I just didn’t want to think about it. Tutoring has kept me busy and I’ve even started working with commuter students on some college classes. It’s nice to do the one-on-one thing. I think I’m just better at that.

“So, anyway.” She bites her lip, then shrugs again. “Sorry to be such a downer.”

Rainey hops up from her stool and comes around to our side of the table. She pulls Carson from her seat into a big hug.

“We love you. We’re here for you.”

She pulls back a bit, then stares at Carson and me.

“In fact, why not celebrate before the summer? We don’t need to wait until June—my parents’ condo in Ocean City is always empty. Let’s drive down to the shore. It’s not that warm yet, but we can hit up Seacrets and get our Dirty Bananas on!”

It’s a tempting thought—Seacrets beach bar makes the best banana cocktails on the planet. But I shake my head.

“I can’t—I’ve got so much grading to do. Not to mention my date with Jeremy on Friday night.”

“Boo,” Rainey says, giving me a thumbs-down. She glances back at Carson. “What about you? You going to be a party pooper, too?”

Carson looks at me. “Honestly, Cyn, I could use a weekend away. Would you be totally pissed if we ditched you?”

“Of course not.” I shake my head. “You should totally go. Go meet some guys, go dance, go drink. All of that stuff. You deserve to have fun, too.”

Rainey lets out a joyful little whoop, then grabs her phone off the table.

“I’m going to go call Dad and let him know we’re using the condo.”

She practically skips toward the door of the restaurant, her phone already pressed to her ear. I take the opportunity to give Carson a proper hug.

“I hate that you felt like you couldn’t talk to me,” I say quietly as I pull back to look at her. “I just don’t want you to think you can’t tell me stuff.”

Her mouth lifts in a sad smile and, for the first time, I see how tired her eyes are. She looks like she’s been losing sleep.

“You’ve had a lot going on lately,” she says. “I know things are hard with your dad and then there’s student teaching and the stuff with Smith. Now, throw this Jeremy dude in the mix, and the last thing you need is to listen to my sob story.”

I elbow her gently. “I will always have time to listen to your sob stories—that’s what sisters do for each other.”

There’s a sheen of tears in Carson’s eyes now and she finally hugs me back.

“I just want to find my place in this world, you know?”

I exhale hard, then nod.

“Yeah. I know.”

Rainey comes bounding back into the bar, grinning from ear to ear.

“We’re all set!” She turns to me with a little pout. “You’re sure you can’t go?”

“Positive. But I know you guys will have a blast.”

Rainey drops her chin into her hand and regards me. “There is, however, a very important subject we need to discuss.”

I quirk a brow at her. Rainey isn’t usually one for breaking out the big guns when it comes to heavy conversation.

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

Her naturally pouty lips curve up into a wicked little smile.

“We need to talk about what you’re planning to wear on this big date of yours. I, for one, think you should try rocking those black leather boots again.”

I groan. “What, since I had so much luck in them last time?”

“Exactly!”

I glance over at Carson, who is grinning widely. Rainey launches into an extensive overview of the sexiest items in her closet, and I take another sip of my drink.

Yeah. Life is complicated. But, if nothing else, I have this—these almost-sisters I couldn’t imagine living without and one completely delicious frozen margarita.

Chapter Thirteen

Breaking Point

“So, tell me about yourself.”

I look at Jeremy, sitting across from me and smiling encouragingly, then let my eyes move over the rest of the restaurant. I wonder if the owners designed it to be a cliché romantic atmosphere. The candlelight, the violin music, and even the heart-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers scream, “I’m trying to get laid.” Or, at the very least, “I’m trying to impress a girl I barely know.”

I shrug in answer to his question and give him a small smile.

“There’s not much to tell. I grew up in Catonsville—about ten minutes from the city. I’m really close to my father. I’ve got great friends. I guess that’s about it.”

“What about your mom?”

I run my hands over the linen napkin in my lap.

“She left when I was a baby. I never knew her.”

Jeremy swallows hard, then clears his throat.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

I hold up a hand, shaking my head. “Don’t worry about it. Ancient history.”

His smile looks kind of wobbly now. Uncertain. Not at all like the confident smirk of another guy I know. I force that thought out of my head.

“How about you?” I ask, reaching for my wine. “What’s your story?”

Jeremy seems far more comfortable talking about himself, and he launches into a substantial life history. I nod politely when he tells me about his four sisters and his parents’ perfect marriage, about how he went to the University of Delaware to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a high school teacher.

“Of course, he majored in history, not science,” he says, grinning broadly. “But he forgives me for my ‘mistaken choice in subject matter,’ as he calls it.”

“It sounds like you have a wonderful family. I’m surprised you’d move so far away from them.”

He leans back in his chair, his lips pursed. I take the opportunity to examine his face. His cheeks are absent of scruff. He really is clean cut. A proverbial good boy.

The opposite of everything I’ve been drawn to lately.

“I guess I just wanted to strike out on my own,” Jeremy finally says. “Delaware isn’t all that far from Baltimore, anyway.”

He reaches for his wine and takes a sip.

“How about you?” he asks. “Why’d you stay so close to home?”

I open my mouth, prepared to say something about Dad, then snap it shut. For whatever reason, I just can’t go there. Not on a first date.

Instead, I say, “I got a scholarship. It was cheaper to stay.”

It’s not a lie, and it seems to satisfy him. Moments later, our food arrives and I dig into my pasta arrabbiata.

“I hate when women don’t eat on dates,” he says approvingly. “I think it’s important to have a healthy appetite.”

I raise a brow.

“When it comes to Italian food, you can bet I can put my fair share away.”

We eat, punctuating the meal with conversation about school, about where I see myself in five years, about what I want to do after I get my graduate degree. When the bill comes, he doesn’t even let me look at it before he slips a credit card into the waiter’s hand.

But him paying for the bill doesn’t make it feel like a date. I hate to admit it, but the whole experience feels more like a job interview.

And I keep comparing him to someone else.

Someone who is nothing like him.

Someone I have absolutely no business thinking about.

“Do you want to get coffee?” he asks as we stand to go. I peer out the window, noticing the dark clouds gathering in the sky, then shake my head.

“Nah, I think we might need to take a rain check on that—literally.”

He follows my gaze.

“Aw, come on—it’s not too bad. Hey, there’s a band performance at Franklin tonight. You want to swing by? I can show you the bullet holes in the auditorium door.”

I blink at him, then shake my head slowly.

“Uh . . . no. I think I’d rather just head home. Maybe another time.”

“Oh. Okay, sure.”

I can sense the disappointment in his voice, but he smiles at me as we head out the restaurant’s front door. The wind has picked up since we were last outside and I pull my jacket a little tighter. Jeremy notices and slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me in closer. My breath stutters a bit and I glance over at him. He isn’t looking at me, but his cheeks are red. I wonder if he’s been waiting for this opportunity.

When we pull up to my apartment complex, the sky has turned from grumbly to downright wrathful, and I glance up warily through the windshield.

“You better hurry home,” I say, “so you don’t get stuck in this.”

He nods and licks his lips nervously. Quickly, I swoop in and press a kiss against his cheek before he can direct his mouth to mine.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say, somehow simultaneously pulling back from him and opening my door. Jeremy looks a little dazed, but he smiles and reaches for my hand, then gives it an awkward little shake.

“I’ll see you at school.” I say it firmly, making it clear this will be our last date.

I don’t think he gets the hint.

“I’ll call you later,” he insists.

I don’t say anything to that. Instead, I just wave as he pulls away from the curb, then take one last look at the angry sky before hurrying up the stairs to my apartment.

I’m home all of two minutes when the lights flicker in my bedroom, then the power goes out. I look up at the ceiling just as a sharp crack of thunder echoes through the apartment.

Shit.

I take a deep breath and try to relax. I’ve been in plenty of storms before. Then there’s a flash of lightning, followed by an almost deafening roll of thunder. I slip off my heels and dress, digging a pair of pajama pants out of my bottom drawer and finding a faded green T-shirt balled up beneath them. If I’m going to be stuck in here, I can at least be comfortable. Wrinkled, but comfortable.

I’m trying to decide between hiding out in the bathroom—no windows—or camping out in my bed under the blankets, when I hear a loud, staccato banging. At first, I think it’s just the thunder—or reverberation of thunder—as it echoes along the exterior courtyard. But then it comes again—louder and sharper this time. Along with a voice yelling my name.

I know that voice.

And the face, despite being soaking wet with rain, is just as familiar when I fling the door open.

You know, most people look like a drowned rat when they get caught in a rainstorm. Smith, on the other hand, looks like he’s ready for a photo shoot. His T-shirt—dark blue, or at least dark blue when wet—is plastered to his chest and torso, defining every inch and ridge of muscle. His hair is glued to his scalp, making me realize how much it’s grown in the six weeks I’ve known him. He’s starting to look a little less like a soldier and a little more like a student.

My stomach takes a swan dive.

He can’t be here right now. The barrier between us has become far too tenuous. Far too close to snapping. I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly aware that I’m braless under my T-shirt.

“I thought you were going to stay as far away from me as possible.”

He sort of smirks. “I changed my mind.”

I lift a brow. “I’d ask how you know where I live, but I guess that would be a stupid question.”

Smith doesn’t say anything to that—just scrubs a hand over his damp hair.

“I have to talk to you.”

I lean my hip against the open door, now pressed between me and the wall, and shiver. The polite thing to do would be to invite him in. The smart thing to do would be to send him away.

“Why?” I finally ask.

“I want to tell you something,” Smith says then, clasping the back of his neck with one hand.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

I peer up at the sky. “Fine, but you need to make it quick. I don’t like standing out here and you shouldn’t be driving in this anyway.”

“I’m leaving Franklin.”

A frown and furrowed brow take over my face.

“What? Why?”

I meet his gaze then, and something spicy and unavoidable flares up in my veins. His lips are parted and his chest is almost heaving with each intake of breath.

“You know why.”

The words are so low, they’re a half growl. I suck in a breath.

“Smith . . . ,” I begin, trailing off. His gaze pins me and he tilts his head to one side as he regards me.

“Are you saying you can keep doing this?”

I swallow hard. “I—I don’t know.”

He takes a slight step forward.

“Because I can’t,” he says, his voice strained. “I can’t see you every day and not touch you. I can’t listen to you talk without watching your mouth and imagine it wrapped around my cock. I can’t show up in your classroom and not push you up against the wall and slide my hand inside your skirt to see if my presence makes you wet. If I see you, I want you. Period. And I can’t do this anymore.”

“But—your credits . . .”

“I’m not worried about that,” he says, almost spitting the words at me. “And neither should you.”

“Excuse me?” I blink at him. He just shakes his head with his eyes narrowed. He looks furious. He looks furious at me.

“When are you going to say what you really want to say?”

“I don’t—what are you—”

“Come on, Cyn.” He shoves a hand back through his hair. “Stop letting your brain do all the talking.”

I open my mouth, then shake my head. The fury bubbles up in my chest and feels like it might spill over into my entire body.

“You know what? That’s fine. Drop out. Do exactly what I wanted to do—quit. But then you’re the quitter. You’re the one who gave up.”

I want to punch him. I want to shake him.

“All I’ve done is defend you. What a waste of my time. You clearly don’t care about anyone but yourself, and you don’t care if you are something different—something better– than the parents you’re a product of or the friends you’ve surrounded yourself with.”

I cross my arms over my chest and tip my chin up.

“I refuse to be the only person in your life who wants something better for you. And I do, Smith. I want so much better for you—you deserve so much better.”

And that’s Smith’s breaking point.

He pushes off the doorframe and moves toward me. When his hands reach my hips, he doesn’t even pause as he pulls me into him. I don’t care that he’s soaking wet as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. Neither of us says another word and really, why would we? There’s nothing left to say that our mouths can possibly communicate better by speaking.

When Smith kisses me this time, it’s like he’s on some kind of quest—like he’s searching for something that he knows I’ve got and he’s waiting for me to give it up to him. If that something is a whimper, he gets it right away. He takes advantage of my open mouth and prowls inside.

There’s nothing about this moment that is gentle—it’s fierce and hot and commanding. His tongue delves between my lips, coaxing my own to meet his. I feel my hands move up to grip the front of his shirt as he presses a palm into the small of my back. A thick, hot coil of desire settles low in my belly and I force myself to pull back.

“Smith,” I manage to say when I’ve gotten enough of my own mouth and brain available to form words again.

But that’s all I say, because he leans back in and captures my bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t stop me,” he murmurs against my mouth, coaxing it back open, licking his way back in. “Please don’t stop me.”

Maybe it’s the please. Maybe it’s the darkness or the way his skin smells like rain. Whatever the reason, I shift in toward the apartment so that I can close the door behind us. As soon as I do, he’s got me pressed up against it, his body pinning mine in a way that leaves no doubt how much he wants me. How much he wants this. His hardness presses into my softness and we both groan at the contact.

Then, his hands are in my hair and he’s palming my scalp, directing my face up toward his as he lets his lips slide along my jaw to my neck. When his mouth reaches my ear, I know I’m lost to this man. Nothing matters now but how good this feels and how much I want it.

How much I never stopped wanting it—not for a single second, even when I should have.

“All I want,” Smith says into my ear, his breath coasting along my neck, “is to feel you. To taste you. To have you any way you’ll let me. I can’t not be here right now, Hyacinth.” Then he bites down lightly on my earlobe, and my body bows, arching out from the door and into the hard planes of his chest and torso. I reach up to stabilize myself or find some sort of balance, but instead let my hands course over his collarbone and his chest, feeling the straining, muscular flesh beneath and knowing that I need to see it again—this time without the body paint.

“Take your shirt off,” I say, hardly recognizing my own voice.

I’m already pulling at the hem, and Smith doesn’t make me wait. He reaches back behind his head with one hand and yanks the wet cotton up and over.

Holy shit.

He’s even more gorgeous than I remembered. His skin is tan and taut, his powerful frame as impressive as it was the night we met. More so even, since I’m seeing it in my own living room. Even the stormy weather can’t compete with the tempest brewing in my body and hurling itself right between my legs.

“Now you,” he says, cocking his head and caging me in with both arms.

But I’m still mesmerized by him, now reaching out to coast my fingertips along the prominent ridges of his six-pack. There’s a heat that feels like it’s emanating from within him.

Then, I realize what he’s asking me to do and I meet his gaze, feeling shy.

“I—I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

His lips lift on one side in that oh-so-sexy smile, and he leans forward and places his mouth against the crease between my shoulder and neck. I feel his tongue flicker against it and I huff out a ragged breath.

“Neither was I,” he whispers against my skin. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, your shirt’s gotten a little wet . . . it’s not exactly hiding much.”

I glance down, realizing that I’ve absorbed a lot of the water from his shirt into mine—and my white cotton tee is now practically see-through in the front. I’m basically ready to enter a Cancun wet T-shirt contest up in here, and I can feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. The view isn’t perfect, considering the dim lighting, but every flash of lightning proves to give Smith a full-frontal shot of me and all I have to offer.

I look up at Smith again, watch the embers in his eyes create the kind of fireworks show you only see on summer nights, and I whip the shirt up over my head.

“Fuck,” he mutters, not even bothering to pretend that he’s doing anything but staring at every inch of my exposed skin. I lean back against the door, unsure of what to do with my hands, so I do what comes naturally. I tuck them into the front pockets of his jeans and pull him into me.

The feeling of his skin, so hot, against mine, still cool from the wet fabric, is like some kind of miracle. I feel enlightened by it. I feel alive. He hisses when our chests meet and reaches up to cup my face and kiss me hard—kiss me stupid, as it were, just like I asked him to not so long ago.

“You are so goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, then slips his tongue back into my mouth, past my teeth, unfurling it and pulling it back, dancing with my tongue and reminding me of what I’ve been looking for since I even knew about kissing—that I wanted to be made to feel that kissing me was as essential to someone as air. Smith makes me feel that way and more.

When his hands slide from my face to my shoulders, I move mine to the backs of his and ease them down over my breasts. Once I’ve done it, it’s like signing a permission slip and he’s off running. I guess he felt he needed that consent from me before he went there.

And then he really, really went there.

“I’ve thought of you like this,” he said, his voice husky as he palms my breasts, my nipples hardening to an almost painful degree. The slight friction isn’t nearly enough, and I want to mewl as he lets his fingers replace his palms.

He’s gentle at first, pinching ever so lightly, yet still whispering in my ear.

“I’ve pictured you like this.”

“Really?” My voice is almost a squeak and he nods.

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Over and over in this very position.”

He lets his teeth graze my earlobe. “I’ve imagined you topless and wet, writhing against me. I’ve imagined coming here every night for the last month and a half.”

His lips brush at my neck, then he leans back to meet my gaze.

“Baby, I’ve pictured nothing but your face, your body, every time I’ve touched myself.”