“Will you stop with the supposed to?” He powers across the room and stops in front of me when I’m bracing for him to crash into me. His eyes are burning. “What do you want? Not what you think you’re supposed to want. Not what everyone’s trying to tell you you should want. What do you want?”
I look at him and think about that question. What do I want? I keep looking at him. I don’t think of the person I am or the one he is. I don’t think about what happened to me or what he is. I don’t think about the possibility of it or the practicality of it or consequences and repercussions.
I think about his question—what do I want?
It’s a simple question and an easy answer but a complicated reality. I
“You,” I say, followed by a shrug. “Just you.”
His mouth starts to open like he was all prepared to argue back, but then what I said sets in. He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, seeming to measure the space between us. His knuckles pop as he glances at the door. God, what did I say? What am I doing?
“Just forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.” I cross my arms and move for the door to open it. Leaving would be easier on him if I act like I’m the one suggesting it. “You should just go.”
When I don’t hear him move, I turn around.
He’s staring at the space between us with an expression that makes it seem like he’s fighting something. “Did you mean that?”
I let go of the breath I’m holding and start to pull the door open. “Yes.”
Torrin powers toward the door, and just when I think he’s about to disappear through it, he slams it shut. His body slides in front of mine, and his chest slowly presses me into the door. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”
My hands splay against the door when I feel the heat of his body mixing with the warmth of mine. “Are you sure?”
His strong hand grips the side of my neck, and he aligns his eyes with mine. “I’ve been sure about you since I was fifteen years old. And I’ll be sure about you for the rest of my life.”
His eyes lower to my mouth, and when he sees the speed of my breath, one corner of his mouth twitches. His other hand slides up my leg and slips just beneath his old shirt. His fingers curl into the skin of my hipbone, then his face moves closer to mine. I stop breathing when his mouth moves toward mine. Before he kisses me, his fingers slide up my neck until two of them press into the space below my jaw.
My pulse beats against the pads of his fingers, and my breath gets away from me again.
When he kisses me, I don’t know what to do at first. It’s been ten years since I kissed Torrin Costigan, but with the way he’s kissing me now, holding me so tight between him and the door that I can’t fall apart, it makes a decade going without seem worth it.
It’s the first kiss of a decade. The kiss of the decade. Maybe the kiss of my life.
It doesn’t take him long to melt my lips, and as I start to kiss him back—my hands winding around his neck to pull him closer—I feel something inside me melting. I’m not sure what it is, but I think it might be resolve.
He tastes like I remember. He feels like I remember. He sounds like I remember. He still makes that low groan in his chest when I tie my fingers into his hair. His hands still dig in deeper when I trace my tongue down his. He’s familiar . . . and he’s different.
I don’t remember the strength he possesses now. The way I feel safe and protected and like nothing could get to me when he’s close. I don’t remember the scrape of his stubble being so sharp against my cheek. I don’t remember the rough growl that vibrates against me when I run my fingers down his chest.
I do remember some of this, and I don’t recall the rest. After tonight, I know I’ll remember it all.
My fingers find the hem of his Henley and tug it up his body. He steps back just enough to let me finish pulling it off, then his mouth is on me again with an urgency that’s new. He hasn’t kissed me in ten years. It’s the kind of urgency of trying to make up for that time.
When I put my hands on his bare chest, I roam his shoulders first, then I take my exploration down the peaks of his chest and end on the planes of his stomach. My fingers skim along the waist of his jeans, slowing where his zipper is. Another rumble vibrates against me. When he fits his hips a little tighter against mine, his fingers still on my pulse curl in a little deeper. I feel his smile even as we kiss.
As he pulls back again, his hands work my shirt up my body. Slowly. Like he’s giving me the chance to stop if I need to. I look at him and lift my arms above my head.
His old shirt flutters in front of my face, and I feel a cool rush of air break across my bare skin, but it only lasts a moment. Before the shirt hits the floor, Torrin’s body is pressing into mine again. His warm body against mine, his chest hard against mine . . . I think I’ve found whatever kind of healing I need if I can just stay like this forever. If we could stay like this, I’d be fine.
But I know we can’t—this moment is fleeting—so I kiss him again.
When he lifts me up and curls my legs around him, he stares at me. His lips are parted from his breath, and his eyes are alive. I see something hanging from his neck I hadn’t noticed at first. Seeing the man wearing the ring I gave the boy ten years ago makes my chest ache.
“You still have it.” I let the gold chain slide through my fingers before I reach the ring resting against his chest. Time hasn’t tarnished it like it tends to do. Age hasn’t worn at the intricate grooves of the design. Wear hasn’t rendered it useless.