Page 63 of Fallen Stars

With a shake of his head, he rolls his eyes. “It’s about you,” he blurts. “The song.”

When he turned sheepish, I had a sneaking suspicion. “Okay.” I shrug and leave, revealing more is up to him.

He twists to face me on the couch and reaches for my shirt, gently fisting the material. “Sorry you had a shitty day.” He leans in and drops the barest of kisses to my lips. “How can I make it better?”

The corner of my mouth twitches at his request. Leaning forward, I press into him, rest my head on his shoulder, and clutch the cotton of his shirt. Breathe in his leather and musk scent with a hint of something distinctly Oliver. I melt into him and let the world disappear.

For now, it’s just him and me and nothing else. For this small blip in time, everything is perfect.

“You already made it better,” I mumble into the crook of his neck after several minutes. Straightening, I drop another kiss on his lips. “Hungry?”

He cups my jaw, stares at my mouth, and strokes my bottom lip with his thumb. “I could eat.” He licks his lips then lifts his gaze to mine.

I take his thumb between my lips and suck for one, two, three breaths. Oliver’s basil-green irises morph into a molten forest green before I release the digit.

“Or we can skip food to satisfy other cravings.” He arches a brow.

Rising from the couch, I extend my hand and try to ignore the bulge in my pants and his. “Later.” I tip my head in the direction of the door. “Let’s go out.”

“I want to tell my family,” I blurt after the server delivers garlic bread to the table.

Soft green irises greet me when I glance across the table. A gentle smile on Oliver’s lips as he reaches for his water. “Whenever you’re ready.”

My heart thrashes in my rib cage as a light sheen of perspiration dampens my skin. Beneath my diaphragm, a whir of energy sparks to life and swirls steadily. I curl my fingers until my nails bite my palms, then shake them out.

“Why am I so fucking nervous?”

Beneath the table, Oliver presses his leg against mine. The contact is an instantaneous balm.

“It’s a big deal.” His lips shift side to side. “I’d be shocked if you weren’t nervous.”

Tired of caring about other people’s opinions of me, I extend an arm and rest my hand close to his on the table. One breath followed by another, his eyes glass over, flitting from my gaze to my waiting hand. Almost indiscernible, his brows twitch before he takes my hand with his.

Warmth and comfort and thrill dance across my skin and thrum through my veins the moment our hands connect. In a single move, everything feels right. Perfect. As it’s meant to be.

With gentle, lazy strokes, my thumb caresses his hand. “I already know how my father will react.” I shudder as an image of his red, severe expression dances across my vision. “Wish I was more certain about my mom.” My gaze drops to the flickering candle in the middle of the table. “I’m so damn tired. Of the facade. Of the secrecy.” I meet Oliver’s patient stare. “Of not holding my boyfriend’s hand in public.”

God… calling Oliver my boyfriend, saying it out loud for anyone to hear… Liberation washes over me as a lifetime of invisible burdens lift from my shoulders.

“Whatever you decide to do, whenever you choose to do it, I’ll be here,” he declares and tightens his hold. “I’ll always be here.”

His proclamation is a warm, gentle caress around my heart. A hit of dopamine to my bloodstream. The most incredible, unparalleled high.

And damn, it has me eager to spill how deeply I feel for him. How deeply I’vealwaysfelt for him.

A constant temptation, that four-letter word edges closer to the tip of my tongue, daring to jump.

But I hold back a little longer.

Hands connected the entire time, we eat dinner in comfortable silence.

After I pay the bill, we leave the restaurant and head back to Oliver’s place. During the drive, I tell him I don’t want to wait. That I want to tell my family tomorrow. And then I ask him to come along. Without hesitation, he says yes.

When we step inside his apartment, I feel more at home than any previous time. Like I’ve finally found my footing, my place, and acknowledged that Oliverismy person.

We strip off our clothes and take our time with each other’s bodies. With unhurried lips and fingers and strokes, we say more than any words will ever express. And after I spill inside of him, he hauls me to his chest and holds me with unrivaled ferocity.

I love you, Oliver Moss.

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