29. Amelia
Chapter 29
Amelia
I wake to the solid warmth of a wall pressed against my back—except it's not a wall. It's the tatted pain in my ass, and every inch of him radiates heat and temptation. His arm drapes over my waist like it belongs there, his breath slow and even against the back of my neck, and my traitorous body? Oh, it's absolutely here for it.
For a moment, I don't move or even breathe. I just exist in this impossible space where his body fits against mine like we were designed for this moment.
Have I ever imagined waking up in Tobias's arms? Funnily enough, no. It's never been that deep—or so I've told myself. But now that I'm living it? I can honestly say I don't hate it. In fact, I'd be lying if I said I wanted to move.
I shift slightly, testing the space between us—or lack of it, and Tobias goes rigid behind me.
He's awake, and yet he still hasn't moved either. It's like being trapped in this impossible moment—caught between breathing and not breathing, between touching and not touching.
Another shift, and his arm tightens, pulling me flush against him.
"Stop moving."
It's not a request. It's a command laced with a warning, and yet my hips betray me, shifting just slightly before I can stop them.
"Stay fucking still," he murmurs, his voice rough with frustration. "Unless you're willing to take care of the problem you're causing, Amelia."
His arm loosens slightly, giving me a chance to breathe—but not enough to escape. I feel the slow, deliberate inhale as his face buries into my hair, his breath warm against my neck. The intimacy of it—the closeness—is enough to send a shiver through me, and I can't tell if I'm dying or melting.
He groans, low and rough, the sound vibrating through me. "You need to wash your hair," he mutters, and for a second, I think he's trying to lighten the mood. "I can't smell the coconut as strongly as I did last night."
The words hit like a sledgehammer, but they bring the realization that he got close.
Close enough to notice.
Close enough to care.
Tobias's grip loosens, and when I turn to face him, he keeps his eyes closed, allowing me to soak him in without him knowing.
His unfairly beautiful face is framed by the sharp lines of his jaw, the dark mess of his hair, and the soft, sinfully inviting curve of his lips. Something stirs in my stomach, unfurling quickly and settling between my thighs, and I press my legs together as if that'll do anything to quiet the ache he's caused.
His eyes open slowly, and we're inches apart.
If he kissed me right now, would I stop him? No. And that truth terrifies me because one move is all it would take.
I should move. I should break this moment.
But I can't, and I don't want to.
I just want to grab his head and push his face between my thighs.
My smutty thoughts are officially out of control, and honestly, I don't even feel bad about it.
"Stop looking at me like that, baby, because all I can think about is giving you exactly what you're not asking for, and I'm about two seconds away from making good on it."
My breath hitches, and my chest tightens under the weight of his words. The eye contact alone is lethal—daring me to test him, pushing just far enough to see if he'll follow through. For a second—just one stupid, reckless second—I actually consider it.
But I pull myself together, sitting up in the bed as the sheets pool around my waist. Tobias moves too, leaning back against the headboard, and I have to force myself not to look at him as he stretches, every shift of muscle and ink begging for my attention.
I slip out of the bed before I give in and do something stupid, like lick him, climb him, or beg.
Grabbing my bag, I try to focus on anything but him.
"You want me to leave everything in the bathroom for you?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder. Tobias nods, his eyes steady on me, watching every move like he has something to say but won't.
As soon as I'm in the bathroom, the door locked and Tobias safely on the other side, I let out a breath. My chest tightens, and I grip the counter for a moment, grounding myself before turning the shower knob. The squeak echoes through the small space, and when the water hits me, it's a cold slap in the face—exactly what I need. Semi-cold. Not ice-cold—I'm not a masochist—but just enough to tell my hormones to simmer the fuck down.
I press my forehead against the tile, letting the water run down my back. Tobias isn't just under my skin—he's practically carved his name into my bones like some kind of territorial asshole.
Eventually, I shut the water off and wrap myself in the first towel I can find, a black one that barely covers anything. My damp hair drips against my shoulders as I step out into the room, but Tobias is nowhere to be seen. The bed is a mess, and his phone lies abandoned on the nightstand, but the faint trace of cigarette smoke hovering in the air tells me he hasn't gone far. I walk to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to catch a glimpse of him outside.
There he is, cigarette in hand, and his head tipped back as if he's waiting for the sky to solve all his problems. It's only when he exhales, leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed, that I realize he's stressed, or frustrated—or both.
When he finally walks back inside, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees me, his gaze glued to the towel clinging to my body. His jaw clenches, and I watch as his hand drags across his face, a telltale sign that he's doing everything he can to keep himself in check.
Yeah, he's definitely frustrated.
"I won't be long, and then we can go, okay?" Tobias mutters, but he won't look at me. His eyes are everywhere but on me—sliding across the room, the floor, the fucking wall—anywhere that isn't me.
"Yeah, I'll wait for you in the car." There's no way in hell I'm sticking around to witness him stepping out of that bathroom dripping wet, water sliding over his inked skin and tempting the living shit out of me.
Fifteen minutes later, the passenger door swings open, and Tobias slides in next to me.
"Ready?" I ask, my voice a little too upbeat, masking the mess inside my mind that caffeine isn't helping one bit.
"You've had coffee, haven't you?" he asks, side-eyeing me like he already knows the answer. "Please tell me you got me one."
I laugh, reaching behind to grab the cup I picked up for him. "Would I really let you suffer like that?" I tease, handing it over.
He lights up like a kid on Christmas, bringing the cup to his nose and inhaling like it's crack.
"I love you," he says, aiming his words at the coffee. I watch him take a sip, and he immediately grimaces.
"Tastes like ass, right?"
"You could've warned me."
"And miss that look on your face? Never happening," I say, grinning as I pull onto the road.
He shakes his head and takes another sip, visibly bracing himself. "Fuck it, I'm not here for the taste."
I can't help but laugh, and with a shake of my head, I refocus on the road, steering us straight toward the house of horrors.
There's something about sitting here with him that feels right. Even with all this complicated shit between us, even when nothing makes sense—this does. He's the chaos I can't help but crave and the calm I've always needed. Even when he's the one setting my world on fire, he's also the only place I'm willing to burn.
I glance over at Tobias, who's leaning back in the passenger seat, sipping that trash coffee like it's the only thing keeping him alive. His free hand taps absently against his thigh in time with the music, and I let myself sink into the moment. We're still us. Messy, complicated, and probably a little fucked-up, but still us.
"So, you excited to see Daddy?"
Tobias turns his head so fast I'm surprised he doesn't pull a muscle. "I swear I'll walk the rest of the way if you ever call him that again," he growls, but the corner of his mouth twitches—betraying just a hint of amusement he doesn't want me to see.
"I know he's an ass, but I want to believe he cares about you in his own twisted way."
"He doesn't," he says, his laughter bitter and short, like it burns as it leaves his lips. "He cares about money, his business, and making sure I stay in line."
"Well, he knows you're not taking over, right?"
"Oh, he knows," Tobias says with a shrug, "but it doesn't stop him from trying to guilt me or remind me about how much of a colossal disappointment I am."
"You know he's wrong, don't you?"
"Do I?" he says, flashing me that half smile I know is meant to shut me up. It's the kind of smile he uses when he wants to dodge the conversation entirely. But screw that—I'm pushing.
"You're living your life, doing what you want, and to hell with everyone else," I say, leaning into the argument. "If more people did that, they'd probably be a lot happier. Yeah, we're privileged—god, I hate saying that—but we are. And you've got the chance to live your life your way."
"As do you," he counters.
"Yeah, and watching you be the zero-fucks-given guy you are has helped me. Over the years, it's pulled me out of myself a little. Made me care less about what people think."
"So, basically, I'm your idol," he says, tilting his head and watching for my reaction.
"You want me to call you my brother again?" I fire back at him.
"Fuck no." The pure horror on his face sets me off laughing. "What about you? Are you ready to be smothered by your mom?"
"I've thought a lot about whether I want to breathe without being asked why or how I'm doing it this weekend, and I'm not sure the choice will be mine."
"Well, if you ever need someone to sneak off with, then I'm your guy."
"You've always been that guy."
"And you've always come with me," he says, his voice softening unexpectedly, like the thought had never occurred to him before now.
Of course I followed him. I always did. Tobias wanted me there, and I never needed much convincing. As much as he hates being around our family and their constant judgment, he hates being alone even more, and I would never leave him to face that on his own.
"I give it twenty minutes before you escape from the party tonight," I say, trying to steer the conversation somewhere lighter.
"You're giving me way too much credit, Mills."
"Okay, ten minutes," I counter, glancing his way with a smirk. "And that's only if the women let you go in one piece."
"Ah, the cougars." He groans, throwing his head back dramatically. "How could I forget?"
"I don't know, considering you always end up with one of them in your bed by the end of the night," I fire back, enjoying the way his head snaps toward me. He's trying to unravel me, but I keep my eyes on the road, refusing to give him anything more.
"That's not exactly in my plan tonight, Firefly."
I say nothing but continue to drive, and as soon as the turnoff comes into view, I welcome it like a lifeline. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get this over with.