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My heart jumps into my throat.
That you love me? That last night was the best night of your life?“What?”
He looks away at the ground, breaking our contact. “I ran into Ava once. We never talked about it.”
Never talked about it? Confusion takes over. “You never talked about what?”
“About River,” he tells me, breathing in deep. With hesitation, his stare lifts to mine. “I mean, she never came out and told me about River. But I saw her, and pretty much knew there was a possibility of it.”
“But you knew?”
“Well yeah, look at her.”
“So why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because she’s better off without me, and Ava knew that.”
I hate that he keeps saying that, like he honestly believes he wouldn’t do right by her.
“Stop saying that,” I whisper when he steps forward, cornering me between the kitchen island and the stove.
Trailing his finger from my collarbone down to the neckline of my tank top, he creates goose bumps across my fevered flesh. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he demands. “And don’t lie to me.”
I wait, but then I think, I need to be honest with him. He needs to know. “I’m upset you slept with my sister.”
There’s a shift in his eyes, a flicker of something that shows some sort of emotion. It’s all I get before he dips his face next to mine, his nose skimming my cheek. “I wanted it to be you.”
Is he telling me the truth? I can’t tell, but then I can’t remember a time when he’s ever lied to me. “Why?” I ask, wanting to shut myself up but also wanting to get this off my chest and out of my heart.
“Because I did.” His eyes close, shadows dancing over sun-kissed cheeks. “I know you want some drawn-out answer where I confess my feelings to you, but even I don’t understand them.” Stepping forward, his arms wrap around my waist, drawing me into his warm embrace. “I can’t give you an answer other than I wanted it to be you.”
For so long, Tiller and I have existed in this very fragile little world that’s only ours and no one else knew about it.
When I look into his eyes, that dirty smile suffocates me and makes my blood rush to my face when he touches it. No one could ever make me feel the way he does, completely aware, completely alive, over the bars in love with him. Even if I can’t say it.
Taking my hand, he leads me back to my room.
The moonlight reflecting off the large windows in every room lights the inside just enough that Tiller doesn’t turn on any lights. A stream of light comes through the large floor to ceiling window where my bed is pushed against
“No candles this time.” He chuckles, sitting on the bed. He motions me over with a flick of his hand. “Ya gonna give up round two now?” His smile is bright even in the moonlight.
Relaxing at his humor, I laugh and move toward the bed.
He nods to my bedspread. “I like the color,” he notes, gesturing to the green, and then the purple rug on my floor. I remember his words at my parents’ house. Beauty without expression is boring. He’s always liked my odd sense of style.
When I sit beside him, he looks over at me. Neither of us say anything. His arms move into a stretch as he removes his shirt and tosses it aside.
Burying his face into my neck, he kisses my throat, working impatiently on my clothes. He takes control, but this time seems different, more passion, more love, more of everything even if we can’t say it.
When we’re alone, we don’t have to make sense of anything. I know in my heart it’s not just sex with him. It’s so much more of an undefined thing. . . but it’s our thing, and I’ll take it.
His pants are undone and I’m trying to get them off, but he’s not having it. Tiller likes to kiss these days and I feel like it’s happening more and more. He shows emotion this way, the little that we give is shared in the passion of his lips. He’s kissing and worshiping. His strong hands push mine away and pin them to the bed. My arms wrap around his shoulders, gripping muscles that flex as he holds me. Grunting, he pushes his hips into mine, wet swollen lips capture my own.
There’s things I find sexy about Tiller that no one compares to. It’s why no man has ever come before him, despite the game we played with each other for so long of never admitting how we feel. It’s his arrogance and the mysterious side of him.
That arrogance comes from him knowing he’s good at this and the reason we’re still doing this is because he gives me what I’m looking for. He’s right. He also knows what I like. Every move he makes, he knows my reaction to it. There’s a sense of comfort between us.
Drawing back, his hands wander up my thighs to the edge of my panties. Drawing them down my legs, he lets them fall at his feet. I push back with my feet on his chest, smiling at him and then sitting up with my feet touching the floor. My head is at his waist, and I look up at him through my lashes. His hands travel over my shoulders and cup my face, his thumbs dragging over my lips.