Page 37 of Moving Forward

A growl rumbles from the back of his throat then he presses against me, my head now in his hands. His lips crash against mine, moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that has a hard edge to it. This is exactly how I imagined a kiss from him. Contained, with the constant threat of an explosion waiting to make its grand appearance. I want—need—that explosion.

I can tell he’s waiting for me to take the first steps. He’s ready, his mouth open and his tongue flicking against the seam of my lips as if to let me know he’s waiting for me.

When he catches my bottom lip between his teeth, I open for him, and he takes the invitation to deepen the kiss. His tongue tangles with mine, caressing it in a way that has me trembling and whimpering, clinging to him.

I forgot just how heated a simple kiss can be. How it burns you, start a fire that’s impossible to put out. All I can focus on is that fire and need aching between my thighs. If the world ended right now, I wouldn’t even notice. Probably wouldn’t care, either. In fact, if a kiss could stop an apocalypse, this would be it.

One of his hands snakes around my waist and unbuckles my seatbelt. His hands knead into my butt and rotate me until he’s cradled between my legs, his hardness pressing where I need him most.

His mouth moves away from mine and travels down my neck to suck on the tender spot beneath my ear. All I can do is throw back my head to give him better access as I tighten my grip on him and moan. Almost involuntarily, my hips start to move against his, seeking any sort of relief I can find. He murmurs something unintelligible that makes my skin tingle.

I start to lock my ankles around his back, but his hand encases my thigh to stop me. He drops his forehead to the crook of my neck, both of us breathing hard and unevenly. “Should stop there. We’re in public,” he says, sounding more like he’s trying to remind himself. He pulls back, looking down at me. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright with lust and need. “Fuck, Peaches, that’s your version of real?”

I bite my lip, a blush creeping up over my cheeks.

“Well, I like it.” He brushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear and takes my hand in his. He gives it a squeeze, with a small, almost apologetic smile. “But I’m not going to hold you to this if it’s something you’ll regret.”

My heart drops. “Cain, I wouldn’t have kissed you if I was going to regret it.” I draw in a deep, shaky breath. I don’t think my heartbeat will ever slow after that kiss. “I’ve been drowning since Ethan died, Cain. Drowning.” My voice wavers, and I fight to gain control. “But with you, I don’t feel like that. I’m comfortable and happy and alive. I feel normal. So, the other day when you said I’m not ready? Well, you’re right about that. I’m not ready to let go of Ethan. I’m not ready to fall in love yet. I’m not ready to lose someone again. But despite all of that, I’m ready for you. I’m ready for whatever this is.”

Cain is still for a second too long. Thinking I’ve gone and scared him off, I prepare to backpedal. I’ll tell him that I can’t control my actions this early in the morning, or I’ll pretend I was sleep-deprived and wasn’t thinking.

Before I word vomit, he presses a kiss against my neck. Any thoughts of damage control are put on the back burner when his gaze locks with mine. “This is something that is pretty damn special.” I can feel the tips of my ears start to redden. He gently tugs on my earlobe. “You’re so beautiful, Max.”

I dip my head so that my hair drapes around my face. I’ve never been one for compliments, even with Ethan. Cain isn’t going to be the exception. I might even be worse with him. “I don’t think I need that coffee anymore.”

“Think that might’ve woken us both up,” he grins. “Think your mouth on mine might be my favorite way to start the day now.”

He presses a final, lingering kiss to my lips that sends a warm bubble down to my stomach. He walks back around to his side and gets in. I start fumbling with my seatbelt, my hands still shaking from that life-changing kiss. A low, guttural growl of protest comes from Cain. “No,” he says tightly, his eyes firmly on the road, “No way are you sitting that far away from me after that.”

He pats the seat next to him and I oblige, buckling myself into the middle seat. One of his hands leaves the wheel, but before he does anything, he asks, “This okay?” His voice tells me he’s just as nervous and unsure as I am. When I say yes, he drops his hand to my thigh. I lean my head on his shoulder and pray nothing will ruin this moment.

So much for just friends.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CAIN

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