Page 22 of Somewhere in the Sunset

I blow out a puff of breath, compose myself, then get comfortable. I take off my Nikes, curl up on the couch, and pull the blanket over my body for warmth. I’m wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater, because I had every intention of meeting Weston at the diner then dragging myself to the gym where Maddie will scream at me to lift heavier weights despite my arms resembling pool noodles, but napping here is a much better use of my time.

I shoot Maddie a quick text to reschedule our session until the afternoon, then tuck my phone into one of my sneakers and burrow further under the blanket. The pulsing of the shower is like white noise, but it only lasts all of two minutes.

Weston emerges from the bathroom, skin flushed from the heat of the shower, his dark hair damp and wild. He’s wearing gray boxers now. As he crosses the small apartment, I steal a peek at his butt. For educational purposes. And it’s a nice butt.

He rolls into his bed and buries under his comforter.

“Goodnight, Gracie,” he murmurs. “Or maybe good morning.”

He faces the wall, his back to me. We are both so quiet, our shallow breathing mixed with the noise of traffic on the street below. At first I think it’s the most annoying sound in the world, the screeching of brakes and the whir of engines, but then it becomes comforting. Just like the white noise of the shower, I think it’ll be enough to put me to sleep.

Except Weston doesn’t go to sleep yet. He tosses and turns a few times, then settles facing me.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

In the dim apartment, our eyes lock. I mentally trace lines across his face, painting the curve of his lips, the thickness of his brows, the beauty mark on his cheek. His dark eyes glisten and I wonder if he’s examining my features the same way I’m studying his. Eye contact this intense with a stranger shouldn’t feel so intimate, yet .?.?.

“I haven’t been sleeping much since Luca left,” I whisper, a shiver traveling down my spine. “I don’t like sleeping alone.”

“Then come here.”

Weston shifts back to the other side of his bed and lifts the comforter. He waits patiently, but it doesn’t take me long to make the decision. I unfurl myself from the blanket and close the tiny distance between the couch and the bed. Not one single breath escapes me as I crawl under the comforter, my back to him.

“Is this better?” Weston asks, his tired voice husky. I nod into the pillow. He shifts closer, pressing his chest to my back. Warmth radiates from him and he tucks his body neatly against the shape of mine. I feel his breath against my hair, and he folds an arm around my stomach. There’s an edge to his voice as he whispers, “And this?”

I’m lightheaded. The apartment spins around me, stars appearing in the dark. I didn’t realize until now just how much I was craving someone else’s touch like this. I’ve felt so alone since Luca left. Being held safe in someone’s arms and sharing the weight of the world with them has been the hardest thing to let go of, and my eyes burn with building emotion. I miss him. So, so much.

I squeeze my eyes shut and reach for Weston’s hand that rests on my stomach. We intertwine our fingers, gently at first, then tighter. I suppress the overwhelming urge to cry. Again. There are no words to describe how desperately I needed this – the simplicity of sharing a bed with another being, the warmth of our bodies igniting like a fire, my hand in his.

A pained cry of grief involuntarily escapes my lips. Releasing Weston’s hand, I twist around in his arms so that we are face-to-face. Our chests together, his arm still around my waist, our gazes only inches apart.

We share a silent agreement in the way we look at each other.

I need him, and I think he needs me.

So, I make the jump.

I take Weston’s face between my hands, and I press my lips to his.

Neither of us moves for an excruciatingly long moment while we register the sensation of our mouths together, new and unfamiliar. Then Weston kisses me deeper. His hand travels from my waist to my jaw, then slides into my hair as his tongue works hungrily with mine. Heartache fuels our desperation. I push myself harder against him and feel how ready for me he is.

Our movements grow erratic. Weston rolls onto his back, taking me with him. I straddle his hips, flattening my body against his chest, and kissing him fiercely. My skin tingles with a million goosebumps and my heart thumps agonizingly in my chest.

I’ve never kissed, never touched, never felt anyone but Luca. He was my firsteverything. It’s all so foreign to me, the scent of a new man’s skin, the different contours of another body, the way a new pair of lips fit uniquely with mine. It’s terrifying, but I need this. I need intimacy.

Weston runs his hands under my sweatshirt, his fingertips blazing over my ribcage. My skin is so sensitive that a shiver soars down my spine in response. He hooks his arms around my body and brings us upright, still holding me in his lap. He is so hard beneath me. I press my hand over his boxers, feeling him bulging as he pushes into my palm.

He takes hold of my neck and angles my chin up as his lips trail from the corner of my mouth along my jaw. I rock my hips back and forth on his lap, a heat rising between my legs, full of anticipation. Weston grunts and grabs my sweatshirt, hastily pulling it off. As he toys with the clasp of my bra, he kisses my breasts and I wind my hands into his hair, pulling on the ends a little too hard as I suppress a moan.Fuck.This feels dangerously amazing.

“If you’re tired, we don’t have to,” I murmur, my head back, eyes rolling. My bra is on the floor now.

“Do I feel tired now?” Weston hisses. He clasps my hand and moves it back to his boxers. His muscular arms take hold of me again and maneuver us with ease, flipping me onto my back.

It’s unbearable now, just how badly I’m craving him inside of me. I am nothing but a shell right now, so empty and hollow, and I know I’ll be a little more whole again if I can justfeelhim.

Weston kisses his way from my chest down to my stomach, then wrangles off my yoga pants. He glances up at me with an arched brow and a smirk to match when he realizes I’m not wearing any underwear, and I bite down hard on my bottom lip as he cups a hand between my legs to feel just how wet for him I am. This urge to be close to him has me feeling insatiable.

---