41. Tobias
Chapter 41
Tobias
H ow does someone look so damn beautiful and peaceful when they're sleeping with their mouth open?
Amelia's dark lashes fan against her cheeks, hair spilled across her face, and here I am—the creep staring at her like she hung the damn moon. Six months ago, I'd have been the asshole waking her up by shoving my finger in her mouth just to piss her off.
Don’t think about your cock. Don't think about the way it felt when she had her lips around it.
Yeah, it's easier said than done.
Because how am I supposed to think about anything else when all I want to do is touch her now? Not just to get off. Not just to fuck her. But to feel her—to connect with her in a way I didn't even know I needed until her .
It's not just about physical touch anymore, not the usual craving that's been wired into me since I learned how to feel. This is different. This is me wanting to hold her hand, needing to trace the line of her jaw with my fingertips, aching to pull her against my chest and match my breathing to hers just to feel closer.This is that same soul-deep affection I've seen between Zane and Tessa, the kind I never thought I'd want—much less need.
But now I get it.
This gnawing in my gut when she's not near. The way my skin feels too tight until I'm touching her. The desperate urge to wrap her in my arms and just… breathe her in. I can't shake it.
I know she's going to be in her head about this. Hell, I get it—I'm in mine too, and it's messy as fuck in here. But I can't let her see that. I can't give her one more thing to worry about or another reason to overthink and spiral until she convinces herself that this thing between us is a mistake.
Because it's not a mistake, it's happening—we'rehappening—and it's not just physical. I refuse to pretend it is, and I won't let her run from me, not when we've barely scratched the surface of what this could be.
The way she fits against me isn't wrong. The way my heart kicks in my chest when she says my name isn't wrong. The way I can't stop thinking about our future—fuck, that's not wrong either.
I can't even imagine what our parents' faces would look like if they ever found out. Kayla would probably chain Amelia to her bedroom wall, throw away the key, and hire an exorcist to cleanse her of my influence. And my dad—Jesus, the old man would probably drop dead on the spot, and wouldn't that be poetic? Because after the funeral, after all the condolences and casseroles, guess who'd be expected to step up? Me.
Yeah, not happening.
I've never cared about their judgment before, and I sure as hell don't now. Let them all judge until their tongues fall out of their heads. Let them clutch their pearls and whisper behind manicured hands and their perfect little lives that reek of insecure gold diggers and men who'd rather clean their own toilets than eat pussy. Let them spread their hate about how David Sinclair's boy corrupted his precious stepsister.
Because nothing—not their judgment, not their whispers, not their self-righteous bullshit—changes the way my body recognizes hers. The way my soul knows her. The way every cell in my being screams mine when she walks into a room.
She starts to stir, wiping at her mouth, and I can't help but smirk. "I know I'm irresistible, Firefly, but drooling? I thought you'd have more game than that."
"Shut up, asshole. I wasn't drooling…" She scrubs at her face, fighting a smile. "Okay, fine. Maybe I was. A little."
"Feel better?"
"Yeah, thanks." She stretches out, her back arching slightly, and I force my eyes to stay on the road. "Want me to drive?"
"I'm good." My fingers tap against the steering wheel as a grin tugs at my lips. "But if you're offering your services, I can think of better ways to use that mouth."
She reaches over, punching my arm with that tiny fist that couldn't hurt a fly. "You're such a dick." But she's fighting a smile as she leans forward to switch on the music. "Speaking of dicks, what's going on with you and David? You two were almost civil this weekend. It was weird."
"We reached an understanding."
"Please tell me you didn't cave about the company." Her eyes narrow, and I can hear the protectiveness in her tone. "Because I swear to god, Tobias, I'll kick your ass."
"No, baby, you won't see me suited up anytime soon."
"Well, that part is a shame." Her eyes slowly sweep over me. "You cleaned up pretty nice at the party."
I press a hand to my chest in mock shock. "Was that… was that actually a compliment?"
"I take it back." She's laughing, running those delicate fingers through her hair, and my mind goes straight to how it would feel wrapped around my fist, how she'd look on her knees with those pretty lips parted…
Focus.
"I agreed to help appoint someone if shit ever hit the fan, but I'm not signing my life away to a future I don't want."
"So what do you want?" She turns in her seat, pulling one leg up under her, and now she's fully facing me. "What do you see beyond Lola's?"
"My own studio."
"You could do it tomorrow if you wanted. You've got the money."
"I'm not ready to half-ass it." I glance at her. "Still got shit to learn, but I'll get there."
"Of course you will. You always got what you wanted when we were younger, so why stop now?"
I look at her, and something in my chest cracks open. Because she's it—the one thing I want but might never fully have. The thought blindsides me, too real for where we are right now. Too fucking soon to be thinking about a future when we've barely started.
"My dad found it easier to give me whatever I wanted than parent me. Throwing money at problems was his specialty. Actually connecting? Not so much."
"Yours pretends you don't exist, and mine micromanages every breath I take. I guess we balance each other out."
"Haven't we always, Firefly?" Her eyes meet mine, and whatever this is between us crackles to life again.
Fuck self-control.
Fuck waiting.
Fuck everything that isn't her mouth on mine right now.
I wrench the wheel, pulling onto the shoulder so fast the tires kick up gravel. My seatbelt's gone before I can think, and then I'm moving, crowding her into the corner of her seat. My fingers tangle in her hair, tilting her head back as I take her mouth.
"What was that for?" she asks when I finally let her breathe, her lips swollen and perfect.
"I couldn't go another second without kissing you," I confess, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her nose, watching her eyes search my face like she can't quite believe this is real. "I think I'm addicted to this mouth."
My thumb traces her bottom lip, and when I tug it between my teeth, her hands grip my arms tightly enough to bruise.
"Then kiss me again, Tobias." The way she says it—soft and demanding all at once—has me growling against her lips before thrusting my tongue back into her mouth.
But then I pull back fast, and the loss of her is like a cold slap to my senses. My breathing is ragged as I press my forehead against hers, my fingers still tangled in her hair.
"I gotta stop." The words physically hurt to say. "Trust me, baby, I don't want to, but I have to." She cups my face, and that gentle touch destroys something in me and then rebuilds it into something that only belongs to her now. "You need to stay on your side of the car until we're home, okay? All the way over there."
She laughs, pushing at my chest. "You need to work on your self-control, Sinclair."
Self-control isn't even in my vocabulary anymore.
Not when she's looking at me like that—like she wants me to throw every ounce of control straight out the fucking window.