Chapter 32 Sadie
thirty-two
Sadie
I’m in Colson’s car and he’s taking me back to my place. But I don’t want to go home. I should be exhausted from today. Kind of feels like today was a whole week–everything with the storm and clean up all the way through watching the fireworks on the beach.
I keep trying to steal looks at him—he’s caught me probably every other time.
The dashboard lights wash over him in faint flashes, catching on the clean lines of his face and the muscle packed into his shoulders.
His white T-shirt fits like it was made for him, stretched across his chest, sleeves snug around his biceps.
Every time he shifts his grip on the wheel, his arm flexes.
How can something so obscure like that be so damn hot?
So distracting? Someone should really study that.
His hat is still on backward like he knows what it does to me. There’s something about the way he fills this space that makes my chest squeeze and something pool in my low belly. His jaw is set, a faint shadow of stubble along it, eyes trained on the dark road ahead.
I feel the pull of him without meaning to, a low awareness humming beneath my skin.
The car is quiet except for the road and our breathing, the night wrapped close around us.
I should be tired. I should want my bed.
But all I can think about is how close he is, how good he looks like this, and how badly I don’t want this drive to end.
My hand finds his thigh. It’s testing the edge of something.
Almost feels a tiny bit reckless. I draw slow circles through the fabric, then give a light squeeze, enough to see what happens.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, the muscle in his arm jumping, and this time when he looks over, he doesn’t bother pretending he didn’t notice.
His eyes flick to my hand, then to my face. One brow lifts. “What’s up?”
My pulse kicks up, nerves buzzing, but I don’t pull away. I like this version of myself—the one who asks instead of wonders. “I was thinking,” I say, voice softer than I mean for it to be, “what if I didn’t go home?
The seconds stretch between us. I meet his gaze, heart pounding. “What if I went back to your place instead?”
He doesn’t hesitate. Not even a second. His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile, and his hand shifts, covering mine on his thigh. “Is that even a question?” he remarks. “Of course you can.”
Something in my chest loosens, excitement blooming bright and heady. I squeeze his leg once more, a quiet yes, and he passes the turn that would take us back to my place.
I put my hand on the car door handle but Colson is there, opening it before I get the chance.
The night air rushes in, cool against my skin.
Before I can even fully swing my legs out, he’s there—one hand braced on the roof, the other steady at my waist. I laugh, breathless, because the way he looks at me feels like a promise.
He doesn’t give me time to overthink it.
He lifts me like it’s nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist. My back meets the side of the car, cool metal grounding me for half a second before his mouth is on mine. The kiss is hungry and unhurried.
I make a quiet sound into his mouth, fingers fisting in his shirt, and he smiles against my lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Come on,” he murmurs, forehead resting against mine, breath warm. “Before you make me forget how to walk.”
He carries me the rest of the way effortlessly, like this is just how things are now—me around his waist, the night closing in around us, the door opening to his place and something different. Bold. Brave.
I’ve never felt like this before. Wanted. Needed. People I’ve been with mostly felt like a decent idea. Not like the only idea.
When he steps inside, still holding me, I know I’m exactly where I want to be.
He sets me down and his hands immediately find my body, one at the hem of my shirt and the other tipping my mouth up so he can crash his lips to mine. His fingers dance along my stomach until his hand pushes my shirt up and he’s cupping me through my bra.
I move my hips and feel his length pushing against me. I can’t hold back the whimper that falls from my lips.
“Fuck. That sound,” Colson groans, pushing harder into me. “That’s what you do to me.”
His mouth kisses my neck, spot by spot, like he’s trying to put his lips on every inch of me.
And you know what?
I hope I’m right.