Chapter 26
26
BEVERLY, 1998
16 years old
I stared at the ceiling, feeling my heartbeat in places I shouldn’t. In my fingertips. My throat. My spine. My lips.
And my chest? My chest felt like it had been cracked open and left to the mercy of the cold air filtering in through the window.
Feeling lightheaded, I ran my fingers over my mouth, feeling the ghost of his lips there.
Blake had kissed me. Blake had told me, I’m yours, B.
And now? Now I was waiting for him to come back. I was still tangled in my sheets, my body still thrumming from the feel of his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing me down into the mattress.
Blake had whispered something about changing clothes, something about not wanting to sleep in jeans, something about how I should close my eyes and stop looking at him like that. He backed away, ran a hand over his face like he wanted to scrub the whole thing off his skin, and muttered, “I’ll be back.”
So I waited.
Not patiently.
Not even close.
I hated waiting.
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, twisting onto my side, staring at the door. My whole body felt tight, like a live wire with nowhere to put its energy.
What if he didn’t come back?
What if he left and decided this was a mistake?
I clenched my fingers into the sheets, my stomach twisting at the thought. Because Blake always ran… He ran from feelings, from me, from anything that made him feel too much.
I swallowed, my heart hammering against my ribs as I sat up.
I needed to stop thinking.
I sucked in a sharp breath as the door opened.
Blake stepped inside, his green eyes shadowed under the dim glow of my bedside lamp. His hoodie was gone, replaced with a plain, thin T-shirt that clung to his shoulders and arms in a way that wasn’t fair. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, his jaw locked as he hesitated near the door, like he was debating whether to stay or run.
He looked tired. But not from exhaustion.
From this.
From me.
From whatever this was.
I blinked. “You came back.”
“You knew I would.”
I did. I really, really did.
I stretched out on the bed, arching my back just slightly, because I was awful and I wanted to see what it would do to him.
Blake’s jaw ticked.
I bit my lip to hide a smirk.
He shut the door behind him and walked toward the bed, his movements slow, careful, like he was debating every step.
I watched him, my breath uneven.
He sat down on the edge of my bed, one knee bent, his fingers tapping against it. “B, I’m freaking out.”
I swallowed. “Why?”
“Because—” He ran a hand through his hair, that stupid buzzed hair that still made me irrationally upset. “Because you’re looking at me like you want me to do something.”
I blinked, caught off guard by how true that was.
Blake let out a low chuckle.“See? That. That right there.”
I huffed.“I’m not doing anything.”
“You don’t have to,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jesus, Beverly.”
“Blake.” I reached out, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, tugging lightly. “Just come here.”
He swallowed. Shifted. Turned toward me.
And before I could process it, he kissed me again.
It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t desperate or rushed.
It was slow. Soft, like he was ruining himself in real time.
My breath hitched as he slid between my legs, his body pressing against mine in a way that was too much and not enough at the same time. I shivered as his hand slid to the back of my neck, his thumb tracing my jaw—slow, careful, like he was memorizing me.
A soft, shaky sound left my throat as I rocked against him, just slightly, just enough to feel him push back.
Blake exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping against my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin like he was trying to hold himself back. I made a sound I didn’t recognize, something needy and wrecked, and that was all it took. Blake pressed closer.
I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You like it, don’t you?” I whispered. “You try to fight it, but you can’t, can you? You like when I can’t help it. When I need you this much.”
He shuddered in response, and I wasn’t even thinking anymore. I moved, swallowing as I felt the way his body reacted to me, the hard, undeniable proof of it pressing against the inside of my thigh.
A rush of embarrassment crawled up my spine, but then he kissed me lower. His lips dragged down the column of my throat, slow, teasing, like he was trying to make me lose my mind.
My thighs clenched together instinctively.
Blake hummed, like he enjoyed that reaction.
Like he wanted more of it.
His lips curved against my skin. His hands slid further under my shirt, rough palms gliding over my stomach, up my sides, thumbs tracing just beneath my ribs. Not quite touching anything, but so close I could barely breathe.
I pressed my palms against his chest like I was going to push him away—but I didn’t. Instead, I pulled him closer. And then he moved again, his body aligning with mine so perfectly it made me dizzy. I felt everything. Every inch, every shudder of his breath.
I rocked again, a little harder this time, feeling the friction between layers of fabric, feeling the heat of him between my legs. A choked sound escaped him—half curse, half groan—muffled into my neck.
My hands fisted in his shirt, my nails digging into his back.
And Blake just let it happen. Blake let me use him.
I pressed my lips together, trying to hold back the sounds threatening to spill out. I couldn’t stop; I kept moving. Slow, desperate rolls of my hips.
Blake made a sound deep in his throat, his hands flexing against my waist as if he was trying not to grip me harder.
My stomach clenched, my legs trembled, everything inside me snapping, unraveling, falling apart.
A strangled noise escaped me as my fingers curled into his back, my head tilting back against the pillows.
I was losing.
I was losing so badly.
“Blake,” I gasped.
His lips ghosted over my throat, his breath ragged.
“I know, baby.”
Baby.
My whole body tensed.
I wasn’t sure if he realized he had said it, but the second it left his mouth, something in my chest snapped. I arched under him, shaking, gasping, struggling to breathe as it crashed over me.
“You’re gonna?—?”
I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence.
Because the tension inside me broke all at once, leaving me trembling beneath him—fully clothed, with nothing but friction, heat, and his body against mine.
I made a sound I’d never made before.
Blake swallowed thickly, his hands still gripping my hips. “Jesus.”
Humiliation hit me the second he went still.
I sucked in a sharp breath, mortified. My face burned.
And now, Blake was still here, still on top of me, every inch of him impossible to ignore. I could feel his ragged breathing, the way his fingers were gripping my hips like he was physically restraining himself from moving.
“Beverly.” His voice was soft.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Blake shifted, his hand cupping the back of my head, his fingers sliding through my hair. “Hey.”
I shook my head, my breath shaky.
His other hand rubbed slow circles against my back.
“You’re okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
I lifted my head just enough to look at him.
His eyes were soft.
I had expected something else—discomfort, guilt, regret.
But there was none of that.
Just Blake.
Watching me. Waiting.
“I—” My voice broke.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
His hand slid to my cheek. “Don’t.”
I forced myself to open my eyes.
“I liked it,” he murmured.
He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t ask for more. Just held me, touched me, reassured me. Then, after a moment, he whispered, “Beverly, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He laughed softly, pressing a lingering kiss against my temple.
I swallowed hard, still breathing unevenly.
Blake’s thumb brushed my hip once.
Then he sat up. Pulled away.
And just like that—it was over.
I blinked, stunned, confused.
He was already standing.
I stared at him. “You’re…” My eyes burned. “You’re leaving?”
Blake let out a deep sigh, speaking more to himself than to me. “I need a cold shower.”
Oh. Oh .
I bit down on a laugh, still lightheaded, still breathless.
He glanced down at me, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Don’t give me that look.”
I blinked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “What look?”
“That look that says you’re trouble,” he muttered.
I stretched out on the bed with a smile on my lips. “Hurry up, Loverboy.”
Blake shot me a look, but he didn’t argue.
And when he finally came back, fresh from the shower, his skin warm and damp, I curled into his arms without hesitation.
He shifted, adjusting me slightly, wrapping the blanket around us before letting his body sink into the bed.
He smiled, his fingers slipping into my hair, tracing lazy patterns against my scalp. “You okay?”
I nodded, my body still buzzing. “More than okay.”
Something unreadable flickered across his face.
He shifted again, carefully maneuvering us until I was curled into his chest, my body molded against his like we had done this a thousand times before.
And maybe we had, in ways we didn’t realize.
Maybe we had always been leading up to this.
I grinned, pressing my face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smelled like soap and something warm, something undeniably Blake .
His arms tightened around me, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against my back.
“Sleep, B,” he murmured against my hair, his voice lower now.
I closed my eyes, my fingers curling into his shirt.
And when sleep finally found me, it wasn’t alone.
It was with Blake’s heartbeat in my ears and his name stitched into every beat of my own.