Page 9 of Something Like Sugar (Pine Forest Something #2)

DUSTIN

O ne sound from her mouth is all it takes to be consumed by this moment, and I kiss her.

Wholly.

I draw her closer, her breath catching when my hands find her hips and our bodies become one. Soft moans pass her lips as our tongues dance, and my cock twitches to meet her cries.

But we can’t. I can’t.

I turn her to the mirror, decidedly away from my raging cock, and my front is flush with her backside. I press her wrists to the glass above her head, and she fucking lets me.

Lord have mercy.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” I say, even as my tongue explores her skin.

“You shouldn’t watch through windows, either,” she all but whispers, “yet I still open my blinds.”

And that’s all the invitation I need before her breasts and face are flat against the mirror, and the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard soars from her lips when I finger the tease of fabric between her thighs.

It’s soaked.

I work my tongue down the back of her neck. “Rock against me, baby. You’re so wet.”

Our reflection is sin.

Pure heat streaks her cheeks, nipples pebble through her leotard, and a large, ravenous me grinds against her backside, sampling her skin. She presses her neck decidedly against my tongue, and I’m damned the very instant she bends her body to meet my kisses and her pert little ass arches up, too.

Despite everything I know I shouldn’t do, I keep kissing, yearning for the satisfied sounds she makes when I taste places I’ve only had in my dreams.

But my father’s face slams across my vision, warring with the present.

“You’re a walking bomb. Goddamned liability excuse for a fucking son.”

It doesn’t matter how many therapists assure me my traumas are managed, if someone were to hurt the woman I love?

I would kill them.

They can’t fix that.

Despite every part of me screaming it’s wrong to let her close, that I should look not touch , I ask her anyway.

“Will you teach me to dance?”

She stills in my hold, her eyes bright and calculating as they meet mine through the glass, and it might have been a yes until this moment. But before she can speak, a notification hits her phone that stirs my insides.

“Congrats @DancerBaby69. Your Fling has accepted. Be Ready tonight at 8!”

My heart slams against my chest.

“Flinger? You joined Flinger?”

The energy shifts as she turns from my hold.

Power flits over her eyes, the same ones that inspired a collection of stained oak furniture I’ve scattered through the town—eyes I have memorized, look relieved.

Relief she has a match? On that app?

“You shouldn’t be on there.” I grind out, unable to ignore the cherry zing across my tongue. I want to hold her and taste it there for as long as time will allow, not just this once.

I step closer, but she flinches.

“ I shouldn’t be on there? What about you? You’re on there with a new pair of rhinestone boots and acrylic nails every weekend.”

“That’s not the same thing,” I argue. It’s insane to think that’s comparable. “I’m me . And you’re you .”

My breath catches as her eyes drop to the floor.

But this isn’t the little girl down the hall dancing to boybands in my sister’s room. This is the grown woman I fell in love with. Her jaw tightens and chin lifts, transforming her into the ballerina I watch in the window every night.

Strong.

Elegant.

Out of my league.

“I’m me , Dustin? How fitting that we find ourselves right back at this place. It doesn’t matter how much life we’ve lived together, or the length that time steals, you will always see me as me .” She turns away, dismissing my reflection through another wall of glass. “Please go.”

Shit .

“Shay, don’t… You know how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt.”

“Do I?” she asks through the mirror, head cocked to the side. “Oh, yeah.” She spins to face me, a sad smile ghosting her lips. “I’m the eclipse, right? I’m all you can see? So you didn’t see that leggy blonde when her tongue was down your throat last night? Because I did see.”

“You saw Miranda kiss me?”

“Glad she has a name,” she huffs.

I press my lips together. “Shana Holiday, are you jealous of my Flinger date?”

“Are you jealous of mine?”

Fuck.

“Yes, Dustin. I saw you with Samantha or whatever her name is. We have floor-to-ceiling windows across from each other, remember?

I press my tongue to my cheek at the intentional misnomer, but my chest tightens all the same.

Jealousy might look cute as fuck on poised and polite Shana Holiday, but I would never dream of hurting her.

“Is that why you cried?” I lower my voice.

“She was just a fling , Shay. People on that app are fake, which is exactly why you shouldn’t be on there.

It’s not worth it for someone like you.”

“ Someone like me? What about you?” She shakes her head. “Look, you don’t have to defend it, Dustin, so just don’t. Like you said, we can’t be anything. So, you do you, and I’ll do me. Better yet, my fling can do me. That’s how it works right, or do I have to give him my hoodie first?”

“Shay, come on—”

“No, you come on. Come on and say you want me. Right here, right now. No more hot, cold, kiss then can’t!

Because quite frankly, I’ve saved everything for you.

Every kiss, every dream, every wish on a shooting star or fourleaf clover plucked from forget-me-not gardens has been for you, Dustin Campbell.

Since I was thirteen years old. But according to you, I’m just me. ”

She steps closer, leaving no space between us as she shoves my back against the wall, so close I can feel her breath across my own. Then she swipes my boots from the floor and thrusts them against my beating chest.

“I’m tired of saving every first for someone who sees me last.”