Page 65 of Before This Ends (Before)

“I liked that shirt,” I whisper, then gasp when he suddenly grasps my hips and lifts me up onto the counter next to the sink. Nudging my knees apart, he settles between my thighs.

“I have a drawer full of T-shirts. I’m sure you can find something you like more.” He nips my bottom lip, dragging it softly between his teeth, then licks over it. Tipping his head to the side, he kisses me, his mouth bruising and relentless.

I move my hands up his chest to his shoulders, then wrap them around the back of his neck, while his hands take advantage of my lack of clothing. And since I once again didn’t bother putting anything on under the tee I wore, I’m completely exposed. Fingers glide through the wetness between my legs. He groans, lifting me off the counter.

Wrapping my legs around him as he carries me out of the bathroom, I kiss across his strong jaw to his ear, nibble, then kiss down his throat as he puts one knee on the bed. As I cling to him still, my back touches the soft velvet duvet, and he comes down with me, one arm going to the mattress by my head, his free hand diving between my legs as he dips his chin and takes my breast into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue has me grasping his hair while I use my heels to shove his sleep pants down his hips. He kicks them off the rest of the way, his fingers and mouth never once faltering.

Feeling him so close, I coast my hands down his chest and wrap my fist around him. Huge. He’s huge and hard as steel in my grasp but as smooth as the velvet duvet beneath me as I slide my fist up. But before I can slide it back down, he lets go of my breast with a pop. Shoving my knees up to my chest, he holds me captive, his hands splayed wide on the back of my thighs. And then he devours me. There is no other word for the way he licks, sucks, and eats me. Fingers twisting in the blanket under me, I hold on to the only thing I can.

After sucking my clit, he flicks his tongue against it over and over. I try to arch into him, try to get away when it becomes too much, and just when I think I can’t take any more, I come. I come so fast and so hard that his name leaving my mouth sounds like a curseanda prayer.

Panting, my inner walls clenching and thighs shaking, I whimper, then moan when he jerks my thighs down and fills me in one smooth, hard stroke.

“Fuck.” That single word clipped in his deep voice causes my inner walls to clamp down around him, and the sound that climbs up the back of his throat is almost enough to have me coming again.

Lifting my legs, I wrap them around the back of his thighs. My hands untangles from the blanket and glide up his arms, feeling his muscles ripple under my palms, then to his shoulders, and down his chest. He arches over me, his eyes locking on mine.

He doesn’t fuck me hard or fast. Each stroke is slow and precise, diving in and staying buried deep before pulling back out, then doing it all over again. I get lost in the rhythm, in the look in his eyes, in the way his hand slides behind my back, then down under my bottom, lifting so he can get impossibly deeper and pull me closer.

Without an inch between us, he becomes my whole world, the only thing I can see, the only thing I can feel, the only thing I can smell, and when his mouth takes mine in a deep kiss, I drink down the taste of him. Overwhelmed and at his mercy, I come once again, whimpering his name down his throat.

His thrusts falter ever so slightly as I clench around him before he speeds up, lifting my leg and going deeper than ever before, riding me through the wave taking me under. He thrusts one last time and buries himself deep inside me with a groan. Panting and sweaty, I curl my arms around him when his weight settles against my chest, and I scrub my fingers through his hair.

“You need a haircut,” I mumble, sounding drunk to my own ears, even though I’m not. His chest moves with silent laughter, and then we’re rolling, and I’m in the same position I woke up in this morning. Sprawled across his chest, my ear over his pounding heart him still buried inside of me.

“You gonna cut it for me?” he asks softly, skimming his fingers up, then down my spine.

“Yes.” I shiver, and he shifts us slightly to drag the blanket over us.

Warm and exhausted, I listen to the tempo of his heartbeat slow, my eyes getting heavier and heavier with every beat.

“Tell me about your parents.” The quiet question is like a bucket of cold water being dumped over me, waking me up. “I thought because of the way you spoke about them that they were still alive.”

“They are.” My chest aches. “Inside me,” I clarify softly, the pain from their loss still so fresh, even though it’s been years since I lost them both.

“What happened to them?”

“My dad passed away when I was twenty. He had a heart attack in his sleep. My mom found him the next morning, when she realized he wasn’t getting up to make her coffee like he always did. She thought maybe he was sick, but by the time she checked on him, he was cold, and she knew.”

“Em.” His hold on me tightens, and I squeeze my eyes closed.

“My parents were…” I swallow, trying and failing to fight back the tears that burn the back of my throat. “They were best friends. They bickered all the time about everything under the sun, but they were best friends. They loved each other more than anything, more than even me and my sister. And I know they loved us, but the love they had for each other was different.” I swallow. “Mom… she tried, but she was lost without him. They did everything together. You would never see one of them without the other, and when Dad was gone, Mom didn’t want to….” I shake my head. “I don’t think she could survive without the other half of her soul. And with Gianna and me not living at home, she just…. I think she just knew we would be okay without her.”

“Baby.”

“Dad would have been so mad at her for giving up, but sometimes I wonder if he had been the one left behind, if he might have done the same.”

“What happened to her?”

“She overdosed. I was living close to home with a boyfriend and working at a bar, so I would go over and check on her whenever I got off work at night.” I shiver and squeeze my eyes closed; the memory still so fresh I swear I can feel it.

“I got to the apartment she rented, because she couldn’t stay in the house she and Dad shared, and I knew the second I opened the door. I didn’t want to go inside, but I told myself I was being ridiculous. I hadn’t been. I found her in her bed, with a note on the nightstand addressed to me and Gianna next to an empty bottle of pills. I just remember screaming over and over, trying to wake her up. I called 911, but I didn’t need to. Her neighbor had done the same when he heard me.” I drag in a shaky breath. “When the ambulance and the police showed up, they tried to bring her back, but it was… It was already too late. I?—”

“You can stop,” he cuts me off, his voice sounding pained. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I was so angry at her for so long. I might not have needed her like I did when I was little, but I still needed her. She was my mom.” The pain I’ve kept tucked away bubbles to the surface, and a sob I can’t control climbs up the back of my throat. It’s been years since I’ve cried over what happened, years since I’ve even really spoken about my parents.

My eyes are burning by the time the tears begin to dry up, and I’m absolutely exhausted, mentally and physically. I feel lips against my brow right before he rolls us to the side.

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