Page 68 of Our Darkest Summer

Only this.

His forehead pressed against mine, his breath uneven. I whimpered, my legs locking tighter around his waist, as he stretched me out. His chest heaved, his body pressing fully into mine.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbled, his voice rough, desperate. “So tight.” His lips dragged down my neck, his body moving with mine, pushing to a relentless rhythm.

It was raw.

It was unhinged.

It was everything.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, my head tipping back as he buried his face into my skin, his breath shaky.

I barely knew who I was. All I knew was him. His hands on my hips, his lips on my throat, his body against mine.

I gasped as his pace deepened, and he gripped me tighter, pulling me further into him. He cupped my breast, then took my hardened nipple between his lips, sucking it gently. I moaned, pleasure rippling through my body. The tension coiled. He pounded into me, over and over, dragging me closer to the edge with every movement.

It was too much, yet not enough.

“Thomas,” I panted, as he filled me.

“I love that,” he breathed.

“What?”

“My name,” his hold tightened around my hips, thrusting into me with greater force, “from your mouth. When I’m deep inside you.”

I shivered against him, my nails digging into his back, my body arching into his as if I could pull him even closer. My breath hitched, pleasure coiling tighter, burning through every nerve.

“Say it again,” he rasped, his voice raw, desperate.

“Thomas—”

I shattered, falling apart beneath him, pleasure crashing over me like a violent wave, consuming me, shaking me to my core. My legs trembled, my fingers fisting into his hair as my mind blurred into nothing but sensation.

Thomas cursed, his body tensing, his grip unrelenting as he drove into me one last time, his breath hot against my neck before he broke, following me over the edge.

The world faded, and all that remained was the feeling of him. His hands, his breath, his warmth. My heart raced, pounding against his. For a moment, neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. Our breathings echoed in the silence.

Then, he pulled back, just enough that he could look at me.

“Kinsley,” he murmured, his breath still uneven as he lent a kiss to my swollen lips.

Chapter Thirty-One

Kinsley

The sheets werecool beside me as I rolled onto my side. I ran my fingers over my lips, my breath hitching at the memory of Thomas. Of what we did. The house was silent. My gaze shifted to the blocked window. It was still dark outside, still nighttime.

All of a sudden, I felt thirsty. I pulled on the navy-blue hoodie Thomas lent me a few days ago and padded toward the stairs, making my way down to the kitchen. When my gaze landed on the island in the middle, my pulse quickened. His scent from his hockey varsity hoodie suddenly consumed me.

I crossed the room and poured myself a glass of water. The ice-cold bit into my insides as I emptied the glass, and I was about to head back upstairs when a faint glow spilling from the living room caught my attention.

Sitting at the coffee table, Thomas had one elbow braced against the arm of the chair, and a chess piece turning idly between his fingers. The dim light from the side lamp flickered against the sharp angles of his face.

He hadn’t noticed me yet, so I enjoyed the moment of just admiring him. The way his brows furrowed in thought, the way his fingers hovered over a rook before changing his mind and pulling back.

Always thinking three steps ahead.