give my heart to you the way you’re asking. But,” she continues before I can pull away, “I loved the boy you were then. I love the man you are now.”
I understand everything she’s saying. It’s more than I had a right to hope for.
I have her as much as anyone can.
“I tried to cut you out, Annie. I wanted to forget you but I couldn’t. You’re so deep inside me I can’t get you out. I never touched another woman on tour. When you’re close, there’s no air. But when you’re gone... I don’t care if I breathe again.”
Her gaze searches mine as if she’s trying to figure a way through this moment.
In my life, I’ve started taking the things I want, stopped making apologies for it. Now… I wait. For the first time in two fucking years, I wait.
Her hands slide down my chest and rest there. She inches forward, closing the distance between us.
She’s close enough I can taste her slow exhale, smell her shampoo.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I want to do it for her.
I haven’t kissed her in two years, and I know it’s because she’s been holding back.
The moment she decides, my heart stops.
When Annie’s lips brush mine, it’s honest and vulnerable. It’s a plea. It’s a promise. It’s all the words and all the actions ever invented rolled into the subtle slide of her skin on mine.
She shifts up on her toes to worship my mouth. My hands slide down to hold her waist, lightly, chastely, while she paints possibilities with her tongue.
It’s sweet. It’s hot. The soft moan that escapes her turns me on like crazy. I want to bury my face in her neck, inhale her floral scent, lose myself in all she is.
It’s so fucking good, but it hurts, too. She’s inside me, everywhere, and half of me wants to push her out while the other half wants to open up, to let her in.
The second she threads her fingers in my hair, tugging greedily for more access, my control snaps.
She can’t promise me all of her forever, but I’ll take all of her tonight.
I press her up against the door, and with everything in me, I kiss her back.
Under the dress, she’s slow curves that yield under the growing evidence of how much I want her. Annie’s lips part, her breath coming in short gasps.
I reach for the keys in her hand and take them from her, fumbling to get the door open. We trip inside, her heels clicking on the wood floor. I turn her, press her back against the wall as the door closes behind us.
Before we broke up, I felt powerless. In the moments we’d lost ourselves in physicality, trying to connect in any way we could, we somehow missed each other.
This is the opposite.
I kiss her in the kitchen while she kicks off her shoes, in the living room as I unbutton my shirt. I kiss her in her bedroom, ignoring the desire to look around. Curiosity can wait. We’ve waited long enough.
I unzip her dress, slide the straps off her smooth shoulders, and watch it fall to the floor.
The way she looks at me, hungry eyes filled with lust and emotion, makes me want to hurry.
I don’t.
I’ve never had a problem with patience, but I’ve had a problem with appreciation.
I won’t take a moment of this, of her, for granted again.
I strip away the rest of our clothes, piece by piece.
My shirt and pants.
Her bra and panties.
I’m covered in ink, the words I could never say painting pictures across my body like she used to do with her pen.
She’s slim and unmarked, a blank canvas that’s familiar and fresh at once.
I touch every inch of her, cupping her breasts that fit perfectly in my hands, sucking her dark nipples until she moans my name.
My lips caress her shoulders, her throat, her waist, her hips.
I make love to her the way I’ve wanted to for weeks, years.
For the first time, I’m not afraid of what’s between us. I take it all.
I touch her body as if she’s mine forever instead of just for now.
She kisses me with the openness she’s always had, the confidence that’s new.
Her palm slips between us to wrap around me, forcing a hiss from my throat as pleasure spirals up my spine. Every muscle in me clenches, right down to the hand I spent two years hating…
And I want more.
I want her around me, so tight I