Page 95 of The Space Between Heartbeats
I brush my lips across his, sweet and slow.
A low rumble comes from his throat. “Fucking cock tease is what you are, Thorne.”
I step away, taking in the room one last time. I feel different than when I first came in here. Guilt sits heavy on my chest, but need is heavier. It feels right to leave this room without either of us getting off.
That’s what we deserve.
I move toward the door, my hand on the knob.
“Sawyer.”
I turn back.
His eyes drop to my left hand and his expression goes dark. “Take it off.”
“What?”
“That fucking ring.” He takes a step toward me. “If I see it on you again, I’ll rip it off myself. And I won’t be gentle about it.”
We stare at each other while I let his command hang in the air. Part of me wants to refuse, to tell him he doesn’t get to make demands, to keep tormenting him. But another part of me wants to obey so I can see the satisfied look in his eyes.
“Not yet,” I finally say.
He pulls a hand through his messy hair, jaw clenched. “Thorne…”
I meet his eyes, holding my ground. “I’ll take it off whenI’mready. Not because you told me to.”
“Fine. But the next time I touch you, that ring better be gone. Or I swear to God…”
I smile, loving the challenge. “You swear to God, what?”
He crosses the room in two strides, backing me against the door, his hand coming up to brace beside my head. His still hard cock, pressing against my stomach. “I’ll fuck you so hard you forget his name. I’ll make you scream mine instead. And that ring will be the last thing on your mind.”
Heat floods through me, and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” I whisper.
“Both.” His mouth hovers over mine, his exhales coming in short pants. “Now get out of here before I lock that door again.”
I slip out into the hallway, my heart pounding, my body still aching for him.
And I don’t look back.
I can thinkof at least ten things I should be doing right now and none of them are lying on my bed, still in my funeral dress, staring at the ceiling.
I have at least thirty unread texts, a dozen voicemails, piles of laundry from the lake, dishes in my sink, and nothing to eat except the leftover meat sauce.
But here I am replaying every second in Owen’s room, my face hot, along with every other part of me.
Knox’s hands, his mouth, his body. That look he gave me—like he wanted to devour me whole. How his voice deepened when he talked about next time, like it was a promise or maybe more like a warning. Not that I need to be warned…I’m ready for whatever he dishes out.
I should feel worse than I did before the services, and I expected to be drowning in grief and heartache. To a certain extent, I am…but it’s different now. Like I gave myself permission to accept what happened the moment I watched him get lowered into the ground.
That doesn’t mean I’m done grieving. No fucking way. My heart is still heavy…I still miss him, and always will. Maybe I’m just tired, I don’t know. Tired of letting the guilt eat me alive. It’s easier to just lean into the self-loathing, add to it, because that’s what I deserve.
If I really think about it, this thing with Knox…it was always going to happen. Wasn’t it?
Maybe not like this. Not after we survived hell and watched Owen die. Not taking place in his bedroom hours after we buried him. But somehow, some way, we were always heading here. We’re two people who’ve been circling each other for years, pretending we didn’t feel what we felt. Both of us trying to hide who we are and what we want.
