face gives off a luminous glow as if she is in the same state of delight I’m in. Or was.
Our heads return to their resting position. “You killed my joy,” I chide.
“Let me make it up to you.” He shifts up on his arm, his hand sliding to the back of my head. His mouth claims me, taking every piece that I freely give to him.
The rippling shudder returns and builds to a pitching back and forth like a ship caught in rough seas, threatening to carry me off into the storm.
He rolls me onto my back as his returns to my waist and my fingers wend their way through his hair.
The only contact between us is our hands and mouth and I need him closer. I press my body towards him and he breaks away. My mouth hangs open from the sudden disconnect and shock. I move towards him, but his firm grip on my waist holds me in place.
Heat warms my eyes as they moisten. “Why?”
“It’s me, Parker.”
It’s then I notice the pain in wrinkles creasing around his eyes. “What did I do?” I ask, my heart racing.
He strokes my face with his knuckles as he takes deep breaths. “You didn’t do anything. I got carried away.”
“I was enjoying it.”
His half-cocked grin appears. “Same here.”
“So why did you stop?”
“You know, Parker,” he snickers in the pause, “sometimes you’re still the Miss Goody Two-Shoes I met in the cafeteria.”
The corners of my mouth turn down, knowing he’s toying with me and my lack of real world experience.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“I just told you I do.”
He removes my hand from his hair and covers it like he’s teaching me something new. He slides it down his chest to his stomach. My breathing thins out and spots flash in my eyes.
He stops. “Breathe, Parker. Look at me,” he says, using the same tone he uses to tell me he loves me.
I focus on his golden irises. The pain replaced by tenderness.
Our hands travel to his belt and he stops again, checking that my breathing is even. He lowers our hands a few more inches until my palm covers the hard bulge in his pants, then he removes it.
My cheeks burn. “Oh.” I pause, unsure what to say next. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, feeling unusually bashful with the boy who knows all my secrets and scars.
“Don’t ever be sorry. I told you I got carried away. I was being an overachiever trying to make it up to you.”
I giggle at his overachiever comment. I’m definitely not ready, but I’m in awe of his restraint. Simon took what he wanted from me when he wanted it, no waiting.
Jason has done nothing but wait. Waited for Simon and Tibby to let him take me on a date. Waited for me while I was in Foster Hell. Now he waits for me to exorcise the demons keeping me from complete intimacy with him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Jason and I sit on the dock with six trout in the cooler. “I think I’m ready to go home and clean these,” he says.
“Do you mind dropping me off at home? I want to take a shower before going to your house.” I don’t want to smell like fish at the cookout. “I can ride with Mom and Dad.” I fold up my chair.
“Sure.”
He kisses my hand once we’re on the road. “Thanks for going fishing with me on my birthday.”
“I thought you might enjoy it.”
“I did. Very much. And now we have fish for the cookout.” He grins.
Jason walks me to the door when we arrive at my house. I call out to let my family know I’m home, but no one answers.
“That’s odd. Do you mind waiting and taking me with you?”
“No problem.”
“Thanks.” I peck him on the cheek. “I’ll be quick.”
“I’ll wait in the TV room.”
I shower and dress in denim shorts and blue t-shirt, removing a wrapped shirt box from my desk before going downstairs.
Jason lies prone on one of the sofas, fast asleep. I stifle a laugh and kneel next to him, pushing his hair back. I place soft kisses on his cheek, nose, and lips. He stirs.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” I murmur, weaving my fingers through his hair.
“Mmmm.” He rolls onto his side and blinks his eyes open. “That’s not how the King’s son woke Briar-Rose from her one hundred years of slumber.”
I giggle.
He cradles my face in his hands, using his mouth to open mine. The tenderness turns ardent and he hauls