CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TARA
Something is wrong with me. I thought it was a bug, especially after my fever went away. But I’m not so sure anymore. I’m exhausted, and every part of my body hurts from the waist down. Maybe it’s the flu, or some mysterious illness that will shut down the world—whatever it is is kicking my ass and the only thing I want to do is sleep.
I should go to a doctor, but I’m not a fan of going alone, and I don’t want to bother my parents?—
not with everything they have going on. That’s why I pretended like everything was fine when my mom woke me up this morning. I must not have been very convincing though because she made me stay home from school, and after we dropped Shep and Theo off, she ushered me into the clubhouse and told me to go rest in one of the rooms.
I’m ninety-nine percent sure she meant my dad’s room or maybe one of the spares.
She definitely didn’t expect me to crawl into Capone’s bed, and honestly, neither did I. But as soon as I started to pass his room, memories of yesterday flooded me.
I really didn’t get a chance to think about how it felt to wake up in his arms, or revisit any of the things he said when I told him about what had happened with Mark. But once I opened the door to his room, and crawled under his sheets, it was all I could dwell on.
My crush was back in full force, only it didn’t feel like a crush at all. I had feelings for Capone, feelings I never experienced before and didn’t quite understand. Was I attracted to him? Yes. A million times yes. Did he get under my skin and annoy me? The answer was also yes. The guy called me princess and he made me feel like I was a burden half of the time. But the other fifty percent he made me feel like I was the only girl to exist in his world. He looked at me in ways no one ever has, and it gave me butterflies.
Maybe it’s all in my head. After all, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to guys. I thought Mark was it for me, and now I’m beginning to realize, he was nothing more than a single chapter in a story that a greater force has already written the end on.
I truly believe that, and perhaps that’s because my mom is always going on and on about twin flames, and all that. She wholeheartedly believes that she and my dad are dust from the same star, and that our destinies are already written.
The door creaks open, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to turn on my side to see who it is. But it’s a waste of effort because I know it’s him. I felt his presence before he even opened the door.
“Holly lied,” Capone says as he gently closes the door behind him.
I tuck my hands under my head and fight to keep my eyes open. “It’s not her fault. I told her I was feeling better so she didn’t worry.”
“But you’re not.”
I shake my head. “And now your sheets are contaminated with whatever I have.”
“I don’t care about the sheets,” he says as he takes a tentative step closer to the bed and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “What can I do to help?”
That makes me smile. It also makes me think it’s possible that my head isn’t playing tricks on me. There’s one way to find out for sure, though.
“You really don’t care if I pass whatever this is that’s got me down onto you?”
“You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Then you can lay with me for a little while.”
I may be half out of it but there is no mistaking the way his Adam’s apple bobs at my words.
“Anything but that,” he rasps. Pulling his hand from his pocket he reaches around and pinches the back of his neck. “I bought all the stuff for a pizza. It’s in the kitchen,”
“I don’t want pizza, Capone.”
“Of course you don’t,” he mutters, his eyes darting toward the door. Everything inside me?—
all the hope—it deflates. I’m about to tell him to forget I said anything when he turns back to me, searing me with a gaze so intense it takes my breath away.
“Fuck it,” he grunts.
Taking two steps toward the door, he turns the lock on the knob before making his way toward the bed, but instead of crawling in behind me like I figured he would, he slides his hands underneath me, gently lifting me and repositioning me in the center of the bed before sliding in next to me.
I inhale sharply. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t say anything as he makes himself comfortable under the covers, his massive body dwarfing mine. He drags in a deep breath as he winds his arms around me, and his legs tangle with mine.
The nearness sends shockwaves to my core and a throaty moan slips past my lips.
Mark and I cuddled occasionally, but it didn’t feel anything like this. It wasn’t electrically charged, and didn’t leave me wanting more.
This must be what it feels like when someone gets drunk. Their head buzzes, and their body tingles.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, my hips shift restlessly. The need to draw him closer to me is too strong, but he doesn’t let me. A low grumbly noise sounds from the back of his throat and his nose drops to the crown of my head.
“You’re such a brat,” he murmurs against my hair.
I try to recall if I washed it this morning, but my thoughts get derailed when he inches back and those chocolate eyes of his meld into mine.
“I like looking at you,” he says, lifting his hand to the side of my face. “I like counting your freckles.”
My nose scrunches. “I hate my freckles.”
“I love them.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. We stare at each other silently, and with each second that ticks by, I wonder if he’s actually counting my freckles.
“I’m too old for you, Tara,” he rasps, a tortured expression flitting across his face. “You got your whole life ahead of you. Years and years to find the right guy.” He pauses, threading his fingers through my hair. “I ain’t him and holding you like this is wrong.”
His actions contradict his words as his hips roll against me.
“Fuck,” he rumbles.
I don’t know if he’s fully hard, but whatever is pressing against my stomach feels thick and heavy. I may be a virgin, but I’ve made an art of dry fucking and have gotten off with my clothes on more times than I can count. My body knows what it’s missing and it knows what it wants. No part of it cares about consequences.
“Then why does it feel right?”
He kisses the top of my head. “I don’t know.”
My fever must’ve returned somewhere in between him opening the door and crawling into this bed with me because I suddenly have the courage to take something I know I shouldn’t. Something that will undoubtedly change everything. Something he might even reject or worse regret. But if I don’t seize the moment, I might never get another one.
It’s that thought, and that thought alone that makes me press my lips to his.
He doesn’t react at first. I don’t even think he takes a breath.
But he doesn’t push me away either, and that knowledge sparks something deep inside of me. My eyes open and instantly lock with his. I wait for him to say something—anything, but he remains silent. Then he lowers his eyes to my mouth. Cupping my chin with his free hand, his thumb glides over my lower lip.
“This is wrong,” he repeats, lowering his head another inch. Our foreheads touch and he pinches my lip. “So fucking wrong.”
“Stop saying that,” I demanded, my voice a broken whisper.
His chest rattles with a groan. I brace myself for the rejection, but instead he slams his mouth over mine. The kiss is soft, and slow as we get used to the feel of each other’s lips, but then he tilts his head, and his tongue sneaks out and licks into my mouth.
The moan that rises from my throat disappears past his lips as I try my hardest to keep up. He’s too skilled, and I’m not experienced enough, so I give up quickly, and follow his lead, taking my cues from him.
He sucks on my lower lip, and my hips roll against him, once again desperate for friction. And boy, do I find it. This time there’s no question of whether he’s fully hard or not. My head spins and I whimper.
I need more.
He tears his mouth from mine, and my eyes spring open at the loss. Spearing his fingers through my hair, he cradles the back of my head and touches his forehead to mine.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers.
“Then why’d you stop?” I ask, winding my arms around his neck. I try to pull his mouth back to mine, but he resists, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose instead.
“I think your fever is back.”
Probably, but I really don’t give a damn. I’ve gone seventeen years without knowing what it feels like to be completely consumed by another person, and now that I have a taste, it’s the only thing I want to feel.
But my mind and body aren’t on the same page, and I can feel my eyelids begin to droop. He draws me closer, tucking my head under his chin, and I let my eyes fall shut.
“Get some rest, princess. I’ll be here counting your freckles.”