Page 49 of Catching Feeling

She makes it to me and then pushes on my shoulders, shoving me back on the bed, flat on my back.

“Stop talking,” she rasps. Her voice is low and so fucking sexy as she swings a leg over and straddles my lap. The T-shirt creeps up her thighs when she does, revealing a pair of purple boy shorts that are molded to her pussy.

Goddamnit. This cannot be fucking happening right now.

Dear God, it’s me. Reese. Tell me this is a joke and I’m not about to have to do what I have to do because of my moral compass.

She rolls her hips over my erection, and I groan.

“Viv, baby, stop. Stop,” I say against her lips as she tries to kiss me. I plant my hands on her hips in an attempt to stop her.

“No. I want you, and I’m so tired of fighting it.”

My heart falls to my ass at her words, and fuck, I have waited so goddamn long to hear her say that. Every fucking day since we first hooked up, I have wanted to hear her say that she wants me as much as I want her.

She slides her hands from my shoulders up to my neck, and her fingers tangle in my hair. Her favorite spot. When she kisses me again, this time, her tongue sneaks past my lips, tangling with mine, and my fingers dig into the soft, fleshy skin of her hips.

I have to stop this.

With superhuman strength I don’t know how the fuck I’m possessing, I tear my lips from hers and pull back.

“We can’t do this. Viv, you’re still drunk, and it would feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

Rejection shines on her face, and immediately, her lips tug into a frown. “Are you kidding me? You don’t want me?”

“Listen to me,” I say, leaning forward to slide my hands along her jaw, staring into the deep blue pools of her eyes. “You think I don’t want you, Viv? Fuck, I want you so bad I’m losing my goddamn mind. There is nothing more I want in the fucking world than this.”

The expression she’s wearing says she doesn’t believe what I’m saying, but damn, I can’t in good conscience fuck around with her knowing how much she’s had to drink. And with how wishy-washy she’s been about her interest in me, I’m getting whiplash a little, and I don’t want her to regret it.

Do I want her? Fuck yeah, I do.

But I’ll wait until she’s sober and there’s no question about what she wants from me. No hesitation. No doubt.

I flex my hips, brushing against her, my brow arching when her breath hitches.

“Does it feel like I don’t want you, Viv?” After a beat, she shakes her head.

My thumb grazes her jaw as I speak. “Exactly. When the time comes for me to touch you—and trust me, it fucking will—it’ll be when there’s no question about your consent.”

“Ugh, why is the room spinning?” She blinks. “Oh shi—” she starts but stops abruptly, closing her mouth and swallowing visibly. Her face has gone green, and I sit up, gathering her in my arms. “I don’t feel so good.”

Oh hell.

Suddenly, she scrambles from my lap, slapping a hand over her mouth as she sprints to the bathroom. Jumping from the bed, I follow behind her just as she makes it to the toilet bowl and falls to her knees. Her small frame drapes over the basin, and then she vomits so hard her entire body shakes.

Without hesitation, I gather her hair in my fist and pull it back from her face as she retches.

Every time I think she’s done, she heaves again. Fuck, I hate this.

Not because I can’t handle puke—I don’t give a shit about that. I’ve seen enough puke and blood in my lifetime playing ball that I’m completely unfazed by any type of bodily fluid.

But because I can’t do anything more than this while she’s miserable. It’s the nurturer in me, or whatever Rosie likes to call it.

I hate feeling helpless in any situation with the people that I care about.

Finally, when she’s finished and sits up, I drop her hair, watching as she sags back against the wall, a look of pure exhaustion on her face. Her usually bright eyes are dull, and there are dark circles under them.

Even though she looks like she feels like shit, she’s still so beautiful it makes my chest tight.

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