25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Joss
F inally.
Wes’s lips meet mine in a tentative, cautious kiss. It must be taking every ounce of his self-control—unless he isn’t feeling the intense pull between us the same way I am. If I were in control of this kiss, I’d probably have him on his back already. His velvet lips move gently against mine. God, I knew this would be amazing, but it’s so much better than I imagined.
He pulls back and leans his forehead against mine. His breaths are quick and shallow, his eyes closed tight. I run my free hand up his arm and grip his bicep. The little squeeze I give it is mirrored in his grip on my neck, holding me close. A tiny whimper escapes me at that possessive touch, and his eyes fly open, searching mine. They’re darker now, like the sky at twilight .
This time it’s me who presses forward, brushing a soft kiss against his even softer lips. My tongue teases the seam of his mouth, begging for entry. He tastes like coffee and sugar, my two favorite things. I hum, my lips parting, and Wes seizes the opportunity to explore. When his tongue slides against my own, my restraint snaps.
My hand tangles in his hair, and I try to pull him closer, but my bent knees are in the way. I’ve always wondered what it means in my romance novels when someone “growls in frustration,” but I think I get it now. I need more, and I need it now. I let my right leg fall open to the side and tug at his hair.
His low moan vibrates through me as his body shifts. Releasing my hand, he pulls me with him until we’re laid out on the couch. My left knee bent, trapped between his body and the back of the sofa, my right hugging along his hip on the other side. He mimics my hold on him by sliding his hand into my hair and pulling gently, exposing more of my throat.
I miss his lips on mine until they find the spot beneath my ear and work their way down my neck. I moan at the feel of him. The heat. The pressure. The way his beard scrapes across my skin. My body lights up. He nips at my collarbone with his teeth, and I could float away on the tide of sensation.
Where I could barely breathe a minute ago, I’m panting now. My breaths are fast and labored, matching his. Oh god, I feel like I could combust. How long has it been since someone touched me like this?
Wes’s arm slides from behind my back, his hand pressing into the crease of my hip and thigh as his body rocks forward. I stifle the cry that’s so close to escaping, and rock up against him. Holy shit. Are we really dry humping on the couch like a couple of teenagers? Yes, yes we are. Do I want to stop? No, no I do not.
“Fuck.” Wes growls out the word, extending that one syllable like a prayer. It’s barely more than a breath against my skin as he kisses his way back up my throat, leaving a blazing trail of fire in his wake. When his mouth meets mine again, gone is any and all tentativeness. This kiss is bruising and raw, our tongues a tangle of heat as we try to get more of each other. Like we’re starving for each other.
“God. Wes.”
“Only one of us is here, Grey.” His voice is light, filled with humor, as he chuckles against my lips. It’s the brevity I need to clear my head, if only a little. We need to stop.
“Yeah, we kind of forgot to leave room for Jesus, didn’t we?” A full laugh bubbles up, and I press my forehead into Wes’s chest as I let my shoulders shake. I’ve effectively stopped our kiss and given myself the chance to breathe, reveling in the scent of him for just another minute. The smell is comforting, fresh and masculine, and entirely Wes.
“The teachers said that here too?” I hear the smile in his voice against my hair. I nod into his sternum, still not ready to break away. “I was never very good at that. The eighth-grade dance chaperones hated me.”
I look up to catch that signature smirk of his, dimples on display. I melt at the sight of them and nearly lose all restraint again.
“Of course you weren’t,” I answer with a smile. “I guess that makes two of us.”
I’m so nervous for what comes next. Afraid that no matter what Wes said, we’ll never be able to return from this. He’s still bracketed solidly between my thighs and damn if it isn’t sexy as hell. I want to reach for him and pull him back to me while simultaneously needing to push him away so I can pretend this never happened.
I’m saved from the need to decide by the sound of my phone ringing on the coffee table. I know it’s her, and the moment is doused in the cold that washes over me. I let my head fall back and close my eyes. I haven’t heard her voice in seven years, and I don’t know what it’ll do to me when I do.
“I don’t want to talk to her,” I say, feeling cowardly and embarrassed that I can’t handle a single phone call. How am I supposed to deal with seeing her tomorrow?
I feel a slight shift above me and hear Wes’s voice. “Hello?”
My eyes fly open, looking at where he’s propped himself above me with one hand, holding my phone to his ear with the other. Bloody hell. I can’t quite hear what’s being said on the other side of the line, but I can tell it’s a woman’s voice.
“This is Wes, Joss’s boyfriend. She’s running errands and left her phone at home.”
This is a different Wes than I’m used to. This is not the sweet, flirty, charming Wes that I know him to be. This is a more calculating Wes, his protective side on display.
“Yes, she told me you’d be visiting.”
More talking on the other end of the line. Damn, now I wish I could hear it.
“Sorry, no, we don’t have space for overnight guests, and I wouldn’t be comfortable with it even if we did.”
Go Wes! This is only making him hotter in my eyes. He is totally unflappable and not giving her an inch. I can’t take my eyes off him .
“If you’d like to come here for lunch, we can make that work. I’ll have Joss send you the address when she gets back.”
More talking from the other end of the line.
“Okay then. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
He hangs up without another word and I am dumbstruck. Setting the phone back on the table, he sits himself up on the couch and runs a hand through his hair, looking irritated and a little sheepish, before glancing at me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I should have checked with you.”
He looks almost nervous. That… what? I’m going to be mad at him for taking charge? As if. That was the nicest thing I think anyone’s ever done for me.
“You’re kidding, right? That was amazing! Thank you.” I launch myself up and wrap him in my arms before pulling back just enough to look at him.
“Now teach me your ways, because how you just handled my mother was”—I make the little chef’s kiss motion—“perfection.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Hell no. I said I didn’t want to talk to her, and I never would have been able to hold the line like you just did.”
I release him, pushing all the way back across the couch. A little breather from the physical touching feels necessary.
“Was she mad?” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. “When you said they couldn’t stay?”
“I don’t know if she was mad per se, but I think she thought she could convince me otherwise. As you heard, that was not going to happen. I won’t jeopardize your peace of mind.” His hand comes to my face, his thumb trailing over my bottom lip before lightly pulling to free it from my teeth. “If you’re going to see her, you’re doing it in a way you can control.”
My heart melts at his words. He never fails to make me feel seen and safe. It’s like he knows the deepest parts of me, the broken parts, even better than I do.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say, and it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.
“Sweetheart, you never have to thank me for making sure you’re taken care of. I do it because I want to. I do it because you deserve to have someone who will.”
He curls a finger around a piece of hair at my temple and slides it behind my ear. I feel that small touch all over and I think that if I would just let myself, I could fall in love with this man. Maybe I already have.
The next few hours are a blur of activity while I work on moving things next door, helping it to look more like a home we could both live in. I keep having to remind myself, especially after that kiss, that this fake relationship is fleeting and that my very real friendship with Wes could be too. He’s here on a work visa. He has family at home. There’s no telling when he’ll decide it’s time to leave Australia. I may need to lax my boundaries over the next couple days, but they’ll go right back up after we’re done with this little charade.
While I wait for Wes to get back from picking up pizza, I settle into the couch and take in the space. My throw pillows and a blanket on the couch add pops of mint and coral. My blown-glass vase filled with peonies sits on the table runner. I brought over a couple of framed pictures of Jaz and I on vacation to put on his bookshelves, along with a bunch of my books. The kitchen has a few of my favorite knickknacks scattered around the counters, and I added some magnets on the fridge. I buy one in each new place I go, and it’s become quite the collection. One that brings me joy whenever I look at it, and it seems to bring me even more joy now that it’s on Wes’s fridge.
No, our fridge.
The door swings open and in strides Wes with two large pizza boxes, a six-pack of cold ones, and another small bag, contents unknown. I jump up from where I’m sitting to help him get everything onto the counter.
“How much pizza did you order? We’re only two people, you know.” I playfully smack his arm and look at all the food. Not like I’ll complain about leftover pizza for breakfast before dawn patrol tomorrow, but still.
“Actually, we’re going to be four. Breck called to ask how the surf camp was, wondering if it was somewhere he could partner with for tours. I had to tell him we didn’t end up going, and then I kind of invited them over. I hope that’s okay? Willow’s at a sleepover, so it’s just Breck and Talia.”
His uncertain gaze meets mine, and I’m once again grateful for his thoughtful nature. I’d completely forgotten that we should be surfing right now, without a care in the world. How can twenty-four hours change so much?
“Of course. Wes, this is your house.” I laugh lightly and look around it. “Though it looks a little more like mine now. How are we going to explain that to them?”
“They probably won’t even notice.” He shrugs, like having my stuff all over his apartment won’t send a message I’m not sure we can come back from. At least not with his best friend, and definitely not with Talia.
“But it looks like I live here.”
“Yeah, that was kind of the point, Grey.” We both laugh, his smile reaching his eyes as he bounds over to me. “It’ll be fine, okay?”
His arms engulf me in a way that drives every worry from my mind. Well, almost all of them. We still need to talk about this, figure out what to say to his friends when they get here. The words are on the tip of my tongue when the door opens, and Breck and Talia’s voices cut short at the sight of us embracing by the couch. Then Talia squeals in delight.