Chapter 16 #2
Her forehead against mine. My hands on her hips. The heat of her wrapped and pulsing around me. But it’s more than that.
This is the thing I've been trying to say to her in a hundred different stupid ways for months. There are no words now. There's only her face this close to mine and the way my chest can't pull in a full breath.
She lifts her hands and places them on both sides of my face.
Her thumbs are cold against my cheekbones, palms warm against my jaw. She holds me there, eyes on mine, and the dashboard light makes her look like she's underwater.
She’s beautiful. Perfect. Mine.
"Say I'm yours," I rasp.
She doesn't look away. Her eyes just soften.
I thrust up. Once. Slow. Her breath catches, and a thumb moves across my cheek, softly, as she says it.
"I'm yours."
Something breaks open in my chest.
I move. Up into her. Her hands stay on my face, eyes staying on mine. It's not graceful, and it's not pretty. My back is going to hate me tomorrow. And none of it matters because she's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world she's ever wanted to look at.
"Say it again," I growl.
"Asher—"
"Say it again."
Her lids flutter until they close, hips moving in circles above me.
"I'm yours."
I get a hand between us. Her panting turns ragged as I move harder, faster. She arches her back, and her head tips back into the wheel. She makes a sound I haven't heard from her before, low and tight and hers.
"Say it again."
"I'm yours."
Her voice is wrecked. Her hands move from my cheeks to my shoulders.
"Again."
"I'm—"
"Again."
"I—"
"Again."
She screams. I cover her mouth with my other hand, the one on her still focused on getting her through it.
Her whole body tightens around me, mouth open against my palm, and she comes apart with her fingers digging into my shoulders.
I follow her over almost immediately, letting go of her clit and her mouth, gripping her hips too hard as I thrust up one last time and spill into her.
She collapses on top of me.
For a few seconds neither of us moves.
Then her forehead comes back to mine as I tilt my head towards her. Slow. Like she's been somewhere far and is finding her way back.
A single tear falls from the corner of her eye.
"I'm yours," she whispers.
The words she couldn't give me a minute ago. Whole this time. Certain.
The windshield is fogged up. Condensation drips down the glass.
I close my eyes.
I can feel her heart against my chest, beating against mine. Neither one of them is doing well.
We stay like that for a minute.
"Asher."
"Yeah."
"My leg is asleep."
"Oh. Shoot, hang on."
We unstick from each other in pieces. She climbs back into the passenger seat with her skirt still hiked and a laugh in her throat that she keeps trying to swallow. And I'm fumbling with my belt and grinning at her in the dark like a teenager. I can't help it.
Her cheeks are flushed, her mouth swollen, and the squint is gone.
I file it away without saying anything.
As she pulls her coat back across her lap and pushes her hair off her face, the knowledge in me settles.
"You win.”
She looks at me.
"Whatever you want," I say. "However long. If you need this to be a secret, it's a secret. If you need me to climb the trellis, I'll climb the trellis. I'll be whatever this needs to be."
Her face does something I can't quite name.
"Asher—"
"I thought I'd lost you tonight." I say it to the windshield because I can't say it to her face. "I sat there for an hour and a half watching you sit in there with him. And then I watched him kiss you, and I can’t—watching that nearly killed me."
She doesn't say anything for a second.
Then her hand finds mine, crossing over the console.
"Thank you," she says.
Small. Quiet.
I turn my hand over and lace my fingers through hers.
I start the car.
I drive her up the block, the whole thing only taking ten seconds. The porch light is still on. I pull into her driveway and put the car in park. She sits for a second with her hand still in mine, then she squeezes once and lets go.
I walk her up.
The porch light puts a circle around us, and I stop her at the door with a knuckle under her chin, tipping her face up. The light catches her eyes and her mouth—slightly swollen, slightly open—and I lean down and kiss her. Quick. Soft. Mine.
I pull back, keeping my arms around her.
"Can I see you tomorrow?" I ask. "After the game?"
She smiles and nods.
She gets to the door and looks in both directions down the street before she closes it.
Finds it clear. Then she slips inside, the door clicks shut, and the deadbolt slides home.
I stand there for a second, staring at the door like I can see her through it, imagining her slipping off her shoes and heading up the stairs.
Then I turn and walk back to the car.
I'm halfway down the path when I hear the door open behind me.
I turn.
She's in her socks, no coat, hair flying. She doesn't look at the houses, doesn't look at the street.
"Hey—"
She hits me at a full run, and I catch her, both of her arms locking around my neck as I lift her up. Her face burrows on one side in the crook.
"Thank you," she whispers against my skin.
I hold her tight. Surprised.
Nobody has ever run back for me before.
Not once.
I hold her there in the cold, the houses dark around us, and I close my eyes. I put my lips to her hair, and I know.
I'd wait.
I'd wait as long as she needed me to. I'd climb the trellis until it gave out. I'd park around the corner until they paved the corner over. I'd let her call me whatever she needed to in front of the people who'd burn her if they knew, and I’d be glad of it. I'd be glad for every minute of it.
She sets her feet down and kisses the side of my jaw. Then she turns and runs back to the house, fast, her socks slapping the cold concrete. The door closes behind her, and I hear the lock again.
I stand there for a minute.
The porch light clicks off.
God help me, I'd do it for as long as she needed.