Page 112 of Make Me Want it Too

He comes to me and wraps his arms around me as I reach for him.

Instantly my face is pressed to his chest and I’m breathing him in, surrounded by his warmth, his scent.

He kisses the top of my head. “I way more than like you, Macy. And I’ll make sure to tell you every day, until you believe me. Actually, I won’t stop, even then.”

I can’t help it. I break. Wailing into his chest, letting everything out that I didn’t know was pent up inside me. And it feels good.

He doesn’t rush me or shush me, just runs his fingers through my hair and rubs my back and holds me and lets me.

And I feel safe. And protected. And cared for. And loved in a way I can’t ever recall feeling before.

The tears dry up quickly and I take a few moments to calm my breathing.

When I pull away, his T-shirt is wet with two black smudges. I sniffle. “I ruined your shirt again.”

“Good. It’s a privilege to be the one whose shirts you ruin.”

I tip my head back, laughing, and he tilts his down, smiling and wiping tears away from my eyes with his knuckles.

He bends down and touches his mouth to mine, and I kiss him back like I’m starving. Like it’s the first time I’ve ever really been kissed. No guard up. No worries. No questions.

It’s real.

His hands are in my hair, on both sides of my face, thumbs on my temples, as he devours me. Our lips push and pull, nip and suck. He tastes sweet and I cling to him, sliding my hands up his back under his shirt, needing to feel him. Needing to be closer.

“Inside,” I pant between kisses.

He pulls my hips in harder against his pelvis. “I want you in my bed,” he says against my lips. “Our bed. I want you there. Permanently. If you want.”

“Like move in? Do you think it’s too soon?”

“No. I’ve been waiting six years. My parents got married after three months. It doesn’t feel too soon at all.”

I look back and forth between his eyes, breathing heavy in his arms, our skin hot. “Okay.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” I grin as his face breaks out in the biggest, most perfect smile.

He’s beautiful.

And he’s mine.

In a whirl, he scoops up my bags and has me around the waist.

He carries me into the apartment. The bags are quickly tossed aside as soon as we’re through the door.

“Bed,” he grunts. He hauls me across the apartment as I cling to his shoulders, giggling. He grabs a banana as we pass the kitchen on the way to the bedroom.

I barely have time to get my bearings before he shuts the door behind us and throws me on the bed.

The bed’s soft. It smells like him in here.

I love his room. Something about it is so… him. Cozy. Warm. Navy comforter. Plaid pillows. Red brick wall, view of Seattle out the floor to ceiling window. Leather chair at a small wood desk near the window.

And then he kisses me, and I don’t care about anything else around me.

Wood. My boyfriend.

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