Page 51 of No One But Us

My heart pounds thick and sluggish in my ears, and suddenly I am no more capable of propelling us forward than he is. “Why?”

He pulls me into him, his hands at my hips, resting his forehead against mine. “I can’t even think when you’re in the same room.” He sighs. “I want you so much I can’t eventhink.”

That airborne feeling I had when Max suggested James might like me? It’s nothing compared to this. This is a wave slamming into me so hard and so fast I don’t even have time to bracemyself.

“You said you didn’t like me that way,” Ibreathe.

He closes his eyes. “I lied. I don’t want to think about you that way for a lot of reasons. But I do.” The words come out mumbled, but they feelreal.

His hands move to my face, long fingers resting against my jaw and cheekbones, holding me steady while his headlowers.

I should stop him. He has no idea what he’s doing. I should stophim.

He leans in and finds my mouth, softly at first. A sweet, unhurried kiss, his tongue opening my lips, his hands sliding back into myhair.

“God, I love your mouth,” he groans. He sucks at my lower lip, wrenching a gasp from my throat that surprises evenme.

I really should stop him. I know Ishould.

And then his tongue finds mine once more, slow and insidious, making the whole world fall away, aside from the pressure of him againstme.

His hands leave my hair, roll down my back until they rest at my hips once more, and then he pulls me against him, where I can tell with absolute certainty that one part of his anatomy is ready to see this through to theend.

But he doesn’t know what he’s doing. And this isn’t the choice he would make sober. I pullaway.

“Come on, James. You’re drunk.” I tug him again, and this time he follows me to hisroom.

I pull the covers down, but as he falls backward, he pulls me with him, and we land together with me on top, unable to remember why I really shouldn’t be here. My breath stutters to a halt as his fingers run along my jawbone, his eyes fixed on mine, half-question and half-plea.

It’s another moment of weakness on my part, a split second of hesitation that gives him the opening heneeds.

He threads his hands through my hair. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts to be around you.” He pulls my head toward his. His mouth is firm and pliant at once, his hands cradling my head above him. I will pull away in a minute, I swear to myself, but God, this is a good kiss. I never want it toend.

He flips me so I am under him, so he is pressed between my legs, and the moment I feel him there, I begin to forget aboutstopping.

“I want to do so many things to you, I don’t even know where to start,” he sayshoarsely.

He finds my mouth again, catching my breathy whimpers as he continues to press against me. The kiss is different than before. There’s something dark and desperate about it, something that seems to wipe away thought. I respond, allow myself to fall into the heat of it, to arch into his roaming hands and thrill at the pained noise he makes as I do so. His hand slides over the outside of my T-shirt, cups my breast. He uses his thumb against it, and even through all the layers of fabric, manages to draw my nipple into a hard point. The look on his face as he stares at it, at the reaction he’s wrought, rests somewhere between devotion andawe.

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning down to capture it between his teeth. I breathe his name out on a gasp, and the hem of my shirt begins to rise. I hear my own shaky inhale as his fingers brush my skin, his mouth and teeth pulling ever harder while his hand climbs past my ribcage.

Once we’re undressed, there will be no stopping this. There is no natural end point but one, and he will hate me tomorrow if I let ithappen.

“James, stop,” I whisper, arching against him even as I say it. I’ve never wanted anything to continue so badly in mylife.

He stills, but remains above me, coiled withtension.

“Not like this,” I whisper. “Not when you’redrunk.”

He looks surprised for only a moment before his face falls in horror. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses, rolling off me like I’m onfire.

“James, it’s okay,” I whisper. He’s face down besideme.

“No, it’s not okay,” he says. “I’m so fuckingsorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I plead. “I want this. I just don’t want you to be drunk when ithappens.”

“It can’t happen,” he says. “It will never happen. You’ve got toleave.”

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