Page 68 of Meet Me Back Here
And now we have the chance for more.
Forrest releases his boxers, crawling over me and tenderly cradling my head when he kisses me again, slow and deep. A promise.
“Do you want this?” he asks against my lips.
I twist one of my hands between us until I can grab the bottom of my dress at my left hip. Forrest’s gaze follows the movement, and when I yank it up, I reveal knotted roots tangled above my hip. I keep pulling, showing a tree trunk, tangled branches, and our treehouse.
“I want this,” I breathe.
“When?” Forrest asks, looking from the tattoo back to me, his gaze soft, safe.
“The week I moved to Arizona,” I say. “I didn’t want to forget either.”
Forrest curls over me, sliding down and placing a kiss to my side, right over the treehouse that is somehow nearly identical to the one on his ribs.
We really are like puzzle pieces.
Forrest’s mouth moves down my body while his hands push up, taking my dress over my head until I’m splayed out before him in my underwear and bra. My body isn’t the same one he saw last time we were like this, just like his isn’t the same as I remember. But the way he looks at me hasn’t changed, like I’m the most beautiful thing on this planet. Just like he became a man, I became a woman, with wide hips and full breasts, and soft curves everywhere.
I preen under his attention, my hips rolling up of their own accord. Forrest clamps a firm grip on my thigh, stilling me.
“Patience, Camilla. I intend to take my time with you.”
His stuttered breath is hot on my belly, and I feel like I might combust when his hand shifts to cup my heat, stroking a long finger against my core. Without a doubt, my underwear are completely wrecked.
“I want to make sure I still know what you like.” All softness is gone from his voice, replaced with need that has me curling my toes.
Forrest hooks a finger under the fabric stretched over me and starts pulling it down my legs, kissing down my skin as he reveals more of me. He abandons my underwear somewhere near my knees, and when his tongue slides over my clit with the perfect amount of pressure, I realize this is not the inexperienced man I had in my bed in college.
I can’t help the quiet, needy sound he pulls from me when he sucks on that spot. My hand finds his hair when his fingers find my opening and push in, curling torturously inside me.
“Forrest!” I cry out when he does it again, dragging his teeth against me this time.
“Yes dear?” he asks, that cheeky fuck, but when he adds another finger and begins pumping in and out of me, any retort I had flies out of my head.
Forrest back then was eager and energetic, but Forrest now is sure of himself, using his tongue and his fingers to play me like I was made for him. Just when I think I’m getting used to his rhythm, his other hand reaches up, pulling my bra down between my breasts until both are exposed and pushed up by the cups, sensitive nipples pebbled.
Suddenly, Forrest is everywhere, all at once, and my fingers are squeezing in his hair, urging him on.
I can’t think, and sounds are spilling from my lips. Some of them are even words. Please and Forrest and more. I don’t know what I’m saying, but Forrest does. Maybe he’s just reading my mind, like he always has.
When I feel pressure building from deep within me, I wonder if he was made for me.
“Forrest, I—” I want to tell him I’m close, my hips rolling hard against his hand.
“I know.” His voice is strained, and he speeds up. “Take it.” And it sounds like he’s begging, his body moving in tandem over mine.
I’m close. So close, if only I could—
Forrest finds something inside me, and I’m falling, the deep hum of his moan vibrating against me, pulling me under over and over again.
When I can feel my fingers and toes again, Forrest is resting his head on my stomach, both of us gasping for air.
“Forrest, I…” I realize I don’t know what to say. It’s sure as shit never been like that before. Not with him or anybody else.
“Thank you,” my post-bliss, idiot brain supplies.
“You’re welcome,” Forrest says before both of us start laughing.
