Page 69 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

The typing bubble doesn’t immediately pop up. In fact, it doesn’t show up until after I’ve counted twelve Mississippis.

Sure.

CHAPTER 25

As Vince opens the front door to me, Gracie dances on her hind legs behind him. He nudges her away then looks at me. And I fall into him. I don’t even wait for him to bring his arms up. Pressing my cheek against his shoulder, I snake my arms around his torso, basking in his warmth and clean pine scent.

It takes a few seconds, but then his arms are around me, one hand at the back of my head, the other rubbing up and down my back. “You’re okay.”

And for this moment, I am okay.

I try on the truth. “I missed you.”

He doesn’t say it back, only hugs me a little tighter, kisses my temple. “What happened with your job?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He slowly pulls away, nudging my chin up to meet his gaze. “What do you want to talk about?”

That’s the thing; I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think or be responsible. I want to be reckless, throw myself into things I know I shouldn’t. I want to kiss him.

So, I do.

When I pull him down to me, he’s taken by surprise, his gold-green eyes wide and confused, but when I press my lips against his, he closes his eyes and I close mine. His hands find the dip at my waist, mine wind in his hair. His lips are familiar in a way they shouldn’t be, his soft grunts my favorite sounds. If I never heard or felt or tasted anyone else for the rest of my life, I would be satisfied.

Together, we take blind steps until we stumble against the staircase, which forces us to break apart, and I grasp his hand, leading him upstairs to his bedroom. He sits on the bed, slow to catch on as I toss my clothes aside until I’m in front of him in only my bra and underwear.

He blinks.

Blinks again.

Then he’s up, clumsily stripping off his shirt and pants. His throat bobs on a swallow, his eyes drinking me in, and I become the most confident version of myself under his rapt attention.

He seems a little nervous, but his earnestness only proves how special he is, and how special he thinks I am that he continually chooses me.

I truly don’t deserve him.

I take him in, from his bare toes to the top of his hair in need of a trim. His legs are covered in dark brown hair, his thighs like tree trunks, and I place my hands on them as I sink to my knees. He meets my gaze over the plane of his long torso, slightly muscled and fuzzed with hair that narrows down toward his belly button and his thick cock that hardens with every second we stare at each other.

I curl my fingers around the elastic of his light-blue boxer briefs, peeling them down his legs so he can step out of them as his erection extends out toward me. Before I can lean in to kiss it, he stops me with his fingers in my hair.

“Are you sure?” he asks even as his hips move forward, tapping the wide head on my lower lip. But with how his mouth opens on a sharp breath, I don’t think he meant to.

I wrap one hand around the base and curve my other around his hip, and even though I know it won’t fit, I pretend my stomach isn’t flip-flopping at the thought and answer, “I’m sure.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers from my hair, but he does curl them tighter as he guides my head toward him, groaning quietly when I open my mouth to him. I suck the salty flavor off him, lick his velvety length, all the while, we never break eye contact.

He doesn’t force me any further than I want to go, merely cups the back of my head, tells me that he’s fantasized about this often. About having my sweet mouth on him.

I can’t believe it. That this is happening, and that he’s the one who’s confessing how long he’s dreamed of me.

“That first year you were in college, when you came home for winter break, you came to a party with RJ and me,” he says, dragging his thumb around the corner of my mouth as I lave him with my tongue. “I hadn’t seen you for a long time, and even though I always thought you were cute, I saw you that night, and…” He blows out a breath, his abs clenching, his fingers tightening in my hair when I lick the bead of his desire. “Shit, Cass, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I wanted to talk to you…” He grunts when I work my fist over him, sucking at the tip. “I wanted to take you to a quiet corner, tell you how I’d always had a thing for you, always thought you were stronger and smarter and more beautiful than you ever believed you were. But when we got there, some douchebag got your attention first.”

My eyes tear at his confession, and I want to please him, give him something in return, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, he bends and pulls me up off the floor, kissing my already-swollen lips until I’m out of breath.

He palms my backside, squeezing hard enough to earn a gasp, and tows me right up against him, all my soft along all his hard.

“I remember that night,” I admit, thinking of the party in the basement of Joe Kieffer’s house, a guy Vince and RJ graduated high school with. “That guy was Patch. We ended up making out.”

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