Chapter 33 #2
“I did. I shouted at her.” I cover my face with my hand, and Easton’s arms tighten around me. “I asked why they didn’t take a different way home that night, or choose another time to leave. Why not earlier or later? I told her how angry I was.”
Easton is silent for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I’m sure your mom wouldn’t have thought that was awful. I think she would have wanted you to let your feelings out instead of swallowing them. She would have understood, I’m sure of it.”
He’s right and I know it. I knew the whole time, but until this moment, I wasn’t sure if I believed it. Sighing, I nestle more tightly against him.
“She would have liked you. Dad already thought you were great.”
He gives me a tiny smile. “I don’t know if he would still think that. Most fathers aren’t very happy about seeing their daughters with boyfriends.”
“Is that what you are?” I ask, surprised by how uncertain I sound. Easton already told me he’s in love with me, after all.
He puts one hand on the side of my face and gently strokes my cheek with his thumb. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yes,” I say, my breath catching as his thumb touches my lips. “That’s what I want.” The words come so easily, as if I should have said them from the very start. I probably should have.
Easton sits up and bends over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. In a good way. Much too good.
“I don’t want to worry anymore,” I say. “You’re my best friend, Easton. But you’re also much more than that, because . . .” I take a shaky breath. “Because I’m in love with you too. I probably have been from the beginning; I just didn’t know it. I don’t want to be scared of it anymore.”
His eyes glow with emotion, and he’s so beautiful that my heart can hardly stand it.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his voice deep and husky. I love his voice. It’s everything. When I hear it, my body is suddenly nothing but heat and urgent wanting.
I put my hands on either side of his face, and instead of answering, I pull him down to me until he kisses me.
Our mouths open at the same time. His tongue is hot, and the world around me blurs until it ceases to exist. It’s just him and me.
His weight is pressing me into the mattress, but he’s still not where I want him to be, where I need him to be.
I move my hips, and he understands. In one fluid motion he slides his whole body on top of mine.
His groin presses against mine, and I spread my legs.
I can feel his erection against my center. It’s almost more than I can bear.
His mouth wanders from my lips down my jaw, my neck, to the collar of my T-shirt.
The shirt has to go. His clothes too. I want to feel his skin beneath my hands, on my lips, against mine.
I grab the hem of his T-shirt and push it up.
His hips instinctively press into mine before he sits up and quickly pulls the shirt off over his head.
I swallow as I look up at him. He’s beautiful.
So beautiful. Not as toned as the boys in ballet, but slimmer and more athletic.
His muscles aren’t as defined, but he’s still buff.
My gaze wanders over his chest, his stomach, and down to the very visible bulge in his boxers before I look back up at his face.
His eyes are dark and full of desire, his lips swollen from our kisses.
His hair is all messed up; I did that. I forget exactly when and how, but it doesn’t really matter.
I sit up, holding his gaze, and break eye contact only briefly as I take off my shirt. He’s holding his breath; I can see him exhale as soon as I let the T-shirt fall.
“Rayne.” My name sounds like longing when he says it. I reach out a hand to him. I need him to touch me again; It’s almost unbearable when we aren’t connected.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod. I don’t think I’ve been this sure of anything in a long time.
He hesitates, his jaw tense, and I know what his next question will be even before he says it. “Have you ever—”
I nod again, more quickly this time. Yes, I’ve had sex before. It wasn’t very good, but it happened.
“Are you really—”
I interrupt him by sliding both hands around his shoulders and pressing my mouth against his.
“Stop talking,” I whisper, and he moans in a way that sends jolts of electricity through me, while at the same time making my body tingle with happiness.
He pulls me toward him and the kiss changes, getting deeper and hungrier. Somehow I end up with my back on the mattress again. Easton is next to me, not on top of me, and I move my hips impatiently because this isn’t what I want. I want to feel him on me, inside me.
God, I want it so badly.
His hands move agonizingly slowly over my body, my hips, waist, and breasts, and I writhe under his touch.
His breath brushes hotly against my skin as he lifts his mouth from mine and his lips travel down my neck, lower and lower until his tongue finds my nipple and he sucks on me.
Oh God. Heat builds in my lower abdomen, and my muscles contract.
And then his fingers are finally where I want them, stroking me through my underwear, which is now alarmingly wet.
I can’t breathe . . . I can’t . . . breathe .
. . in the best way possible as he pushes the thin fabric aside and touches me.
A whimper escapes me, a sound I’ve never heard from myself before, which he inhales as he kisses me again.
I feel him quake beneath my hands, just as I do beneath his fingers, because he’s found exactly the right spot.
Everything is spinning, and it’s both too much and not enough.
I cling to him, gasping into his mouth, pressing myself against his fingers, begging him not to stop.
He doesn’t. He keeps going, and when he slides first one finger and then a second inside me, I completely dissolve.
I see stars. I glow, I disintegrate, I die while he continues to caress me, thrusting his fingers inside me.
I am nothing but throbbing and longing and wishing for more.
My legs tremble and the muscles in my abdomen contract with desire. More, more, more.
I kiss him, tongue, teeth, heat, and wanting. My hips tilt and he lowers himself over me. I press myself against his erection, more throbbing and then burning heat inside me as the orgasm washes over me like a wave.
He swallows my cry, and then we lie there, breathing heavily and trembling all over, his forehead leaning against mine, our lips almost touching.
“That was . . .” I begin, but fall silent because I have no words for what he’s done to me.
“Yes,” he says. The tip of his nose brushes mine, and I love it so much. I stretch until our mouths meet again because I can’t get enough of him. Of this. Of us. I want more, need more. More of him inside me, on top of me, everything about him and everything about me—everything about us.
I put a hand on his shoulder and push him back.
His eyes flicker, and then a smile flits across his face as I nudge him down until he’s the one on the bottom.
I stand up because I’m still wearing my underpants.
Easton’s gaze follows my every move, watching me as I slip off the last bit of fabric that was covering me and stand completely naked in front of him. He swallows.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, and I have to smile because he sounds so admiring. I’ve never felt so beautiful.
“Do you have—” I don’t even have to finish the question. He’s already nodding and stands up and goes over to one of the dressers. He opens a drawer and returns with a little plastic package in his hand. He hesitates for a second and then pulls down his boxers.
I gaze at him, letting my eyes glide over his body just like he did with mine, and it feels so completely right.
“Come here,” he whispers, and we move toward each other. His hands caress the back of my neck, his fingers in my hair. I stroke his back and move lower, sliding to the front. Easton groans as I wrap my hand around him. I smile at him and take the condom from his hand.