Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
My initial emotion had been indignation: How dare she.
Dani had dogged me from the moment I’d returned to Boston. I hadn’t even unpacked. She’d wanted to get back together—she’d flirted to the point of exhaustion. And now that I was finally ready to take the next step, she had rejected me?
But by the time I returned to my apartment, my anger had shifted to embarrassment. I paced the length of my apartment, replaying the scene in my head for the hundredth time. Each pass made my mortification burn hotter.
I threw myself onto my bed, groaning into a pillow. “So stupid,” I muttered to myself.
A knock at the door jolted me upright.
“Mom!” I yelled for the entire complex to hear. “I said I’m not hungry!”
“It’s not your mom,” the voice beyond the door informed me.
Shit.
I scrambled to my feet and smoothed my clothes and my hair.
There wasn’t much to be done, however; I’d changed into a ratty old t-shirt and leggings upon returning home.
I cast my eyes to the pencil skirt and dress shirt I’d worn for the broadcast, now flung over the back of a recliner.
I half entertained the thought of changing back into my work clothes, but I knew it would take an awkward amount of time to make myself presentable again.
I tugged the door open before more time passed. I tried for casual, leaning against the doorframe, but my heart was hammering against my ribs.
“Hey,” I said. I tried to keep my tone neutral and dispassionate.
Dani’s gaze swept over me, and then she stepped forward. Before I could say anything, she cupped my face and kissed me, soft but sure, and nudged the door shut behind her with the heel of her boot.
There was nothing tentative about the kiss; it was decisive, like she’d already made up her mind for both of us.
Her mouth pressed harder, deeper, not rushing but not asking either.
I felt myself give in instantaneously, my body folding toward hers, caught in the intensity of it—the way she held my face, the way she kept me steady, like she wasn’t about to let me slip away again.
I pulled back after a moment, my breath uneven, my lips tingling.
“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice a low rumble.
“Yes. God, yes.”
I grabbed her hand and tugged. “Bed. Hurry.”
Clothes came off in frantic bursts between kisses—shoes abandoned, buttons popped, zippers snagged, and somewhere along the way, my t-shirt hit the lampshade.
When we finally tumbled onto the bed, her mouth was on my neck, her hands everywhere at once, and all I could think was, this feels like home.
She pulled back for a moment, her breath warm against my skin. “Better than a supply closet?”
I exhaled deeply, threading my fingers through her hair. “Oh my God, yes.”
She kissed me again, deeper now, her body settling fully against mine, grounding me even as everything inside me unraveled. I held onto her—hands in her hair, at her back, anywhere I could—like if I let go, she might disappear.
Her hands roamed freely, mapping the lines of my body. My pulse hammered in my ears as her mouth traced down my neck. Her hand slid to my hip, fingers splayed wide like she was reclaiming space she’d never really given up.
The weight of her, the familiarity of it, made everything else fade away. My lips caught hers again in a messy, consuming kiss. It wasn’t about control; it wasn’t about rushing. It was the two of us, reacquainting, reacclimating, rediscovering every curve, every nerve ending.
“Too long without this,” she murmured, her mouth against mine. Her tongue darted between my slightly parted lips, our teeth grazing lightly. “I need all of you.”
I didn’t answer with words—I could barely think. My body responded for me, hips lifting to meet hers, a soft moan escaping my lips as her hands continued their exploration.
“Still doing okay?” she asked, her eyes never leaving my face.
“Uh huh.”
That was all she needed.
I let her move me—shift me—until my back pressed into the mattress and she hovered above me. The squeak of the hide-a-bed punctuated every motion, but I barely registered it. All I could focus on was her—her scent, her weight, the way her eyes darkened with desire as she looked down at me.
Her hands slid over my thighs. “Jesus, you feel so good. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to get even hotter.”
The self-deprecating comment died on my lips. I wanted to protest—I wasn’t that girl from college anymore. But this was no empty flattery. I knew she meant every earnest word.
Dani’s lips returned to my jaw, her teeth nipping lightly at the sensitive skin just below my ear. I whined, tugging at the bottom hem of her shirt. She laughed softly into my neck, but humored my impatience by pulling the fabric over her head and letting it fall to the floor.
She hovered above me momentarily. Her hand disappeared behind her back until I saw the material of her nude bra slacken, so she could toss it to the floor beside her shirt.
Her bare skin glowed in the soft lamplight, all lean muscle and smooth curves. The muscles in her abdomen visibly flexed. I reached up, tracing a line up her stomach, my thumb brushing over her already hardened nipple. She shivered under my touch, her breath catching.
When her hand slid under the waistband of my leggings, my thighs parted instinctively.
“Do you feel that?” she asked, her voice low and teasing as her fingertips brushed over the thin fabric of my underwear.
“Uh huh,” I whimpered, my voice catching. “God, yes.”
Her fingers traced the sensitive line up my inner thigh, inching closer, grazing over the slickness that had collected there. Every touch made my muscles tighten; a warmth spread down my limbs that made my toes curl.
She leaned back just enough to regard me, pupils dark and lips glistening. “You’re so ready for me,” she murmured her approval.
“I am,” I exhaled. “God, Dani, I’ve been ready.”
She tugged at my leggings and underwear in one fluid movement. I trembled, hips arching, letting her strip me bare. She mirrored the motion herself, kicking off her joggers and letting her underwear follow, until we were both bare, heat pressed to heat.
The squeaky mattress groaned beneath us with every shift and press. I couldn’t stop the moans that ripped out of me. The friction, the heat, the weight of her—it was intoxicating.
I groaned, hips lifting slightly to meet her movements. Her hands anchored on my thighs, steadying herself as she ground her naked pussy against me; the sensation made my body melt in ways I hadn’t even remembered.
She shifted her weight, her knee sliding between my thighs to press more firmly against my core.
As she moved, her leg extended, her foot coming to rest near my hip.
The lamplight caught the dark ink on her ankle.
My brain, previously short-circuiting from pleasure, came to a screeching halt. I pushed gently against her shoulder.
“Wait,” I panted. “Dani, wait.”
She stilled instantly, pulling back to look at me, her expression a mixture of concern and raw desire. “What? What’s wrong?”
I didn’t answer. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, my gaze locked on her ankle. I reached out a hand, not to touch her, but to point.
“Your tattoo,” I whispered.
Her eyes followed my gaze, and a flicker of understanding—or maybe regret—crossed her face.
“Oh. That.”
Something inside me went very still. The frantic heat from moments ago evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity.
“The compass,” I said. “It’s gone.”
I remembered the night we’d gotten them at a sketchy tattoo parlor off-campus. We’d chosen a tiny, stylized compass, pointing north. So you can always find your way back to me, she’d whispered.
She glanced down at the Olympic rings that now curved around her ankle, the dark lines clean and unmistakable.
My voice came out thinner than I liked. “Did you … did you cover up our matching tattoo with the Olympic rings?”
Dani exhaled. “Yeah.”
The admission hung between us, heavy and absolute.
“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” she added quickly, her voice teetering on urgent.
“I swear. I just—” She scrubbed a hand over the back of her neck.
“After we broke up, every time I taped my ankles before practice, it was there. Every game. And then the Olympics happened, and it felt like … I don’t know. A new chapter.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “So you covered us with the thing that took you away.”
Her mouth twisted. “That’s one way to put it.”
“I kept mine,” I said. My words weren’t intended to be accusing, just factual. A stark contrast to the different ink on her skin.
Her thumb brushed absently over my hip. “I didn’t erase it,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s still there. Underneath.”
I huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. “That’s not comforting.”
“I know.” She leaned her forehead against mine. “And I’m not asking you to be okay with it. I just don’t want you thinking I forgot.”
I closed my eyes and breathed her in. This wasn’t about a tattoo. It was about time. About choices. About all the ways we’d both survived without each other.
When I opened my eyes, she was watching me carefully. I saw the regret there, but I also saw the same desperate need I felt. Fifteen years was a long time to be lonely.
I gave her a crooked smile. “I’m still here.”
Her shoulders eased in relief. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I leaned in and kissed her. It was slower this time. It was a kiss that acknowledged the past but refused to be held captive by it. Her hands came up to cup my face, holding me like I was precious.
When we pulled apart, her eyes were dark again, but the fire in them was different. It wasn’t just frantic lust; it was something deeper, more deliberate.
“Reese,” she murmured, her thumb stroking my cheek.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed, answering the question she hadn’t asked. “Please, Dani, don’t stop.”