Page 113 of Make Me Dream of You

Almost instantly, he’s shuddering over me as he comes, his body tensing and flexing, emptying himself inside me.

He kisses me with trembling lips, our breathing both shaky and broken, our bodies still connected.

I comb my fingers through his hair and then to the sides of his face, holding it and looking into his eyes as the last few tremors of his climax roll through him.

We’re still and quiet. Just us and the moonlight, and I want this moment to never end.

He kisses the tip of my nose, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and slowly pulls away, sliding out of me.

It’s tender there, and as he leaves my body, I try not to wince.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” His face falls, cold panic in his eyes.

“No.” I shake my head, but his expression doesn’t change.

He gets up and disposes of the condom. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

After a moment, there’s the rush of running water then he returns with a damp washcloth and kneels next to me on the bed.

“Spread your legs for me,” he says gently.

He presses it between my legs, gingerly cleaning my inner thighs then higher. The washcloth is warm, the fabric a little prickly. It feels raw against me, and I whimper as he rubs it over my sensitive flesh.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “I’m sorry if I was too rough with you, at the end. I was trying to be gentle and make your first time good, but I got carried away. It’s hard to hold back, in that state.”

“You weren’t too rough,” I say, but his mouth stays in a hard line. “It was perfect.”

He lies down next to me, still pressing the cloth between my legs. After a few minutes he tosses the cloth to a nightstand and pulls the covers up over us. I settle on his chest, and he wraps his arm around me while stroking his fingers through my hair.

I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

“I think I’ll actually sleep tonight,” he says, the timbre of his voice making his chest vibrate under my cheek.

I look up at him, but he’s staring off, a million miles away. He told me months ago about how it’s worse at night. That’s always when the bad thoughts seep back into the foreground and keep him awake.

“Will you tell me what happened? I know about the accident, but not the details. Let me carry some of it for you.”

He tightens his arm around me.

“I don’t tell anyone about it. Obviously, my family knows. Wood. But that’s it. I don’t bring it up. Bex doesn’t even know. It happened after we’d already broken up, and my parents and brother had moved a couple towns over, so it wasn’t on the local news where you were.”

He swallows hard, his pulse quickening. I give him a squeeze, staying quiet, giving him time.

His words come slow and soft. “Cam—Cameron, he was an amazing pianist. Like, genius-level. My parents wanted to put him in a fancy performing arts school when he reached high school, but me, being an asshole eighteen-year-old, didn’t want to move right before my senior year. So, they let me stay with Wood’s parents, and they went.

“It happened the fall after I graduated, right before my nineteenth birthday. They were coming back from a concert. It was raining. They were going over a bridge, and there was a large truck going the other way. It’s unclear which vehicle crossed over the center line, but one of them did and they hit head-on. Their car went off the bridge and into the water. They all died.”

He’s quiet for a minute, his chest bobbing under me.

“The coroner’s report found no water in my parents’ lungs—they died in the impact. But my brother, in the back seat, he drowned.”

An ice-cold sinking feeling slithers through my veins as my stomach drops. His insisting on giving me swimming lessons makes even more sense now. What I put him through at the lake?—

“Noah.” I wrap myself around him as much as I can, not knowing what else to do or say.

He’s not looking at me, but out the window. I tuck my head under his chin.

“He was fifteen,” he whispers. “They all tried to reassure me that he was probably unconscious from the accident when they went under, but there’s no way to know for sure. That’s the worst part. Knowing he was alone. Wondering if he was scared. If he watched the water come in. Wondering if it would’ve been different if I had gone with them?—”

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