30. And for the lady, perhaps a man on his knees
CHAPTER THIRTY
and for the lady, perhaps a man on his knees
PRESENT
Istare up at Forrest, looking at me like I could be everything, and I think I’ve got him at my mercy.
And I think I just might.
“If you want this, all you have to do is say yes,” Forrest says.
After telling myself for so long that this is something I can’t have, having it at my fingertips feels like the start of a cruel joke. Like somebody is going to pop out and yell Gotcha!
But it’s just me and Forrest here, and he’d never do that to me. We need to talk. More than just a desperate shouting match when we’ve been stretched to the point of snapping. I know we do. But I can’t find it in myself to care right now.
“Yes,” I say, never having been more sure I wanted something in my life.
“You’ll tell me to fuck off?” he confirms. “Say no, if there’s anything you don’t want completely?”
“I will,” I promise.
“And you’ll tell me what you want?”
“I want you,” I say.
Forrest drops to a knee, hooking his arms behind my knees, and lifting me when he pushes back to his feet, my legs hanging uselessly with his elbows at the bend of my knees. My hands fly to his shoulders to steady myself, but he has me, steady as a rock, fingers splayed wide against my back.
When he looks up at me, it’s with such fierceness that the feeling shoots through me, stunning me. He tips his head back and drops me just enough to press me against the wall at my back and kiss me, sudden and all-consuming.
He growls when we part, like needing air is a personal offense, and he presses our foreheads together, both of us now breathing hard.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you, Cam,” he says, and it somehow feels even more powerful than when we first saw each other again last year.
I know that neediness, though. It’s a deep, intimate, visceral kind of longing, a constant ache for the person who has made you whole. I was surviving without him, but I feel alive in his arms.
“Bed,” I gasp. “Now.”
Forrest nods against me before pulling us away from the wall and striding toward the bedroom. He kicks the door fully open with enough force to make it smack against the wall behind it.
“Forrest!” I scold with a laugh. “You’re going to break the room.”
“I don’t care,” he growls as he tosses me onto the center of the bed.
When I land, feet planted and knees bent, the loose sweater dress I’m wearing bunches up around the creases at the tops of my thighs. Forrest looks positively feral as his eyes trail all the way up my bare legs, drinking in every dip and curve.
“Jesus Christ, Cam,” he says, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re going to break me.”
So, I let my knees fall open.
The sound that tears from Forrest when he reaches up the bed to grab one of my ankles makes my lower belly clench deliciously. The yelp that bursts from me when he drags me to the bottom of the bed has him grinning.
“Tell me you forgive yourself,” he demands as he drops back to his knees and starts squeezing his way up my calves.
I prop up on my elbows. “I forgive myself,” I say.
“Convince me,” he says, and it sounds like the most sinful request on the planet. His hands reach the inside of my knees, and he opens my legs further, pressing me into the mattress. If he looked down, I know he’d see the damp spot on my panties, but he won’t shift his eyes from mine.
“Do you want me to stop?” Forrest asks.
“I really don’t,” I say. I want him to know how badly I want him.
“Then I need you to tell me what happened with us was not your fault.” His thumbs are digging into the soft skin of my thighs, but they haven’t moved any further up.
I groan and drop my head back, ignoring his order.
“Brat,” he taunts.
I can’t stop my smile when I look back at him, but I feel much less cheeky when one hand jumps to the top of my thigh, and Forrest’s thumb starts tracing the elastic of my underwear, brushing, just for a second, over my center through the cloth.
The touch is like a ghost of a memory. Of legs tangled on a too-small dorm bed. Of hushed voices and stifled moans so our roommates wouldn’t hear. Of exploring and tasting and testing.
When I involuntarily squirm, Forrest raises his eyebrows at me, quite pleased with himself. I press my lips together and look to the ceiling, but I feel my resolve crumbling. I may have started this game, but I’m ready to surrender.
Forrest’s touch disappears from my legs, and I look back down my body to find him pulling his sweater over his head. After tossing it aside, he finds eye contact again as he opens the buttons on his shirt one by one.
“Was it your fault?” Forrest asks.
I open my mouth to say yes, just to rile him up, but when he shrugs his button-up off his shoulders, the sound dies in my throat. Knowing I can touch him now makes seeing him like this so much worse than a few days ago.
And it wasn’t all my fault.
“Hm?” Forrest prompts as he stands and takes off his glasses, carefully closing them and setting them on the little dresser behind him. When he turns back to me, he unbuckles his belt. He knows he’s winning.
“Say it,” he urges as his pants drop to the floor.
“I—”
Forrest hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, and I can see him straining against the fabric.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I croak, surprised my voice works at all. And all at once, I feel a rush of relief that I didn’t expect, like saying it out loud is freeing me.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I say again, and somebody—maybe it’s me?—lets go of the angry grip they had on my heart.
“We needed to be better to each other,” I admit, and Forrest nods.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Me too,” I answer.
And now we have the chance for more.
Forrest releases his boxers, crawling over me and tenderly cradling my head when he kisses me again, slow and deep. A promise.
“Do you want this?” he asks against my lips.
I twist one of my hands between us until I can grab the bottom of my dress at my left hip. Forrest’s gaze follows the movement, and when I yank it up, I reveal knotted roots tangled above my hip. I keep pulling, showing a tree trunk, tangled branches, and our treehouse.
“I want this,” I breathe.
“When?” Forrest asks, looking from the tattoo back to me, his gaze soft, safe.
“The week I moved to Arizona,” I say. “I didn’t want to forget either.”
Forrest curls over me, sliding down and placing a kiss to my side, right over the treehouse that is somehow nearly identical to the one on his ribs.
We really are like puzzle pieces.
Forrest’s mouth moves down my body while his hands push up, taking my dress over my head until I’m splayed out before him in my underwear and bra.
My body isn’t the same one he saw last time we were like this, just like his isn’t the same as I remember.
But the way he looks at me hasn’t changed, like I’m the most beautiful thing on this planet.
Just like he became a man, I became a woman, with wide hips and full breasts, and soft curves everywhere.
I preen under his attention, my hips rolling up of their own accord. Forrest clamps a firm grip on my thigh, stilling me.
“Patience, Camilla. I intend to take my time with you.”
His stuttered breath is hot on my belly, and I feel like I might combust when his hand shifts to cup my heat, stroking a long finger against my core. Without a doubt, my underwear are completely wrecked.
“I want to make sure I still know what you like.” All softness is gone from his voice, replaced with need that has me curling my toes.
Forrest hooks a finger under the fabric stretched over me and starts pulling it down my legs, kissing down my skin as he reveals more of me.
He abandons my underwear somewhere near my knees, and when his tongue slides over my clit with the perfect amount of pressure, I realize this is not the inexperienced man I had in my bed in college.
I can’t help the quiet, needy sound he pulls from me when he sucks on that spot. My hand finds his hair when his fingers find my opening and push in, curling torturously inside me.
“Forrest!” I cry out when he does it again, dragging his teeth against me this time.
“Yes dear?” he asks, that cheeky fuck, but when he adds another finger and begins pumping in and out of me, any retort I had flies out of my head.
Forrest back then was eager and energetic, but Forrest now is sure of himself, using his tongue and his fingers to play me like I was made for him.
Just when I think I’m getting used to his rhythm, his other hand reaches up, pulling my bra down between my breasts until both are exposed and pushed up by the cups, sensitive nipples pebbled.
Suddenly, Forrest is everywhere, all at once, and my fingers are squeezing in his hair, urging him on.
I can’t think, and sounds are spilling from my lips. Some of them are even words. Please and Forrest and more. I don’t know what I’m saying, but Forrest does. Maybe he’s just reading my mind, like he always has.
When I feel pressure building from deep within me, I wonder if he was made for me.
“Forrest, I—” I want to tell him I’m close, my hips rolling hard against his hand.
“I know.” His voice is strained, and he speeds up. “Take it.” And it sounds like he’s begging, his body moving in tandem over mine.
I’m close. So close, if only I could—
Forrest finds something inside me, and I’m falling, the deep hum of his moan vibrating against me, pulling me under over and over again.
When I can feel my fingers and toes again, Forrest is resting his head on my stomach, both of us gasping for air.
“Forrest, I…” I realize I don’t know what to say. It’s sure as shit never been like that before. Not with him or anybody else.
“Thank you,” my post-bliss, idiot brain supplies.
“You’re welcome,” Forrest says before both of us start laughing.
“Your turn,” I say once I’ve caught enough breath to speak, bending one knee so I can try to flip us.
Forrest’s arm wraps around my leg, rubbing my thigh reverently.
“No, I’ve already had my turn,” he mumbles before tipping his head back to look up at me.
Surely he doesn’t mean…
“Wait, did you…?” My question trails off as I watch his shoulders shudder with expended energy.
“Did you think I could watch you come undone like that and not?” Forrest asks with a smile, dragging himself up the bed and wrapping himself around me. “I’ve never seen anything so magnificent in my life.” He sighs against my shoulder before pressing a kiss there.
Oh.