Page 55 of Love Out Loud
Guilt crashes into me like a wrecking ball, because he’s right. I am. And until now I hadn’t thought past the next kiss and the ache to have his body next to mine. I know he didn’t mean it to make me feel bad. And I know he knows me going back to Michigan isn’t the same as his parents coming and going on a whim. Though in the haze of his anxiety, that probably doesn’t matter as much as the sheer fact that I’m physically here now and in a few weeks, I won’t be.
“Come back with me.” I hadn’t thought about it before, but I’m suddenly desperate to have him there. To make him coffee and share breakfast before I head off to teach my classes, to kiss him deeply when I come home.
As if he can read my mind, he kisses me. It’s long and languid, and our tongues tease each other. “The only thing good about that place is you,” he says into my lips.
I pull back as the unspoken end of that sentence hits me: And that’s not enough.
I blink a few times against a rising tide of uncertainty. I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. He just loves it here. He always has. And I can’t blame him; I love it here, too.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say with much more certainty than I feel. “Unless…” I trail off, the suggestion almost too painful to give voice to. “Unless you don’t want to try?”
Lennon rolls out so he’s on his side, facing me. Our heads rest on the same pillow, our noses almost touching. His breath smells like minty toothpaste and a lingering earthiness that isn’t at all unpleasant. “I thought about that,” he admits. “While I was out today. I figured it’d probably be easier for both of us if we cut our losses and walked away before one or both of our hearts got really broken.”
My stomach bottoms out, and I chew at my bottom lip. “Oh,” I say, and I can’t keep the disappointment from dripping from the word.
Lennon tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and tilts my chin so I have to look at him. The sliver of light from behind the curtains casts a silvery glow over his features. His eyes are warm, and they crinkle at the edges. “And then I got back here and saw you and your notes all spread out on the floor, taking over my life and my space. You’re so fucking beautiful, Lark. I want you to take over. I want you in every way, in every aspect of my life.” He smirks. “Fuck easy.”
A relieved laugh bubbles out of me, too loud in the quiet night. “Fuck easy,” I repeat.
He leans in and catches my nervous laughter with a kiss. This one is different than the others, at once more intense and more caring. I open for him, letting him taste me, swallowing his moans and soaking up the soft noises he makes.
His hands land on my hips, the warmth of them seeping through my pajama shorts. He hooks my leg over his hip and pulls me closer to him. My nipples pebble under my shirt as he squeezes me into his chest.
“Can I…” His hand gently grazes the underside of my breast.
I arch into him. “Yes,” I breathe, and in a beat, his hand cups the swell of it. Our eyes meet in the dark. We can both sense it, being on the edge of something new. The air between us is charged with need, the ache of it a physical, tangible thing.
And then, because I can’t hold back any longer, I push him onto his back and climb on top of him as he watches me, his jaw slack and his eyes sparkling, in the second before I jump in and lose myself in his body.
