Page 103 of Past the Broken Bridges

In that moment, when everything inside of me is cold, I need her to be the warmth that thaws the thick ice layered around my heart.

I pull back far enough to say, “If you don’t want this, if you changed your mind about what you want, now is the time to tell me. Because I’m not sure I want to stop after that.”

I wait. One second. Two. Five seconds go by.

When she doesn’t say anything, my eyes flare with anticipation. The same moment my lips crash against hers, I grab her by her hips and lift her up. She wraps her arms around my neck for support, her legs doing the same around my waist as I walk her backward until her back meets the wall. Pressing myself harder into her front, I groan when a muffled cry comes from deep in her throat.

My body needs release. Needs a distraction. It needsSawyer.This Sawyer. The Sawyer from my past. I need them both.

And she kisses me back, matching every little movement, albeit far more hesitantly. I’m getting lost in the moment, burying my fingers into her hair and pulling her head back when she locks up.

“N-Not the hair,” she says, breaking the kiss and pushing my hand away from the silky locks.

I release it instantly, pressing a warm kiss to the exposed column of her throat and offering her a quiet, “Sorry.”

She exhales a shaky breath. “Don’t be. I…it’s…”

I spin us around until she’s draped across the couch. There are a million things I want to do to the girl whose hair is spread out around her, but I’m not sure I have the patience for it all.

“You don’t need to explain,” I promise, taking in her body. I’ll never understand the pull that I’ve felt toward her since the day she opened the door and accused me of taking her food. I chalked it up to horniness at first, but it never went away. It’s like a string: pulling, pulling, pulling until it’s so tight it’s threatening to break.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, more to myself than her. The color that warms her cheeks makes me grin as I kneel down beside her, trailing my palms up her legs and watching her lips part with a shaky exhale from the slow, subtle touches.

Stopping when my hands meet her thighs, I lean forward and press a kiss to the inside of her knee. Then another, higher. Then another farther up until my fingers hook into the waist of her leggings and pull them down.

When I see the thin material covering her underneath, I trail my lips along the same path as the cotton I’m peeling off her until both her leggings and panties are discarded on the living room floor.

Selfish.That’s what I plan on being right now.

Because seeing her exposed to me this way with vulnerability shining in her eyes makes me realize one thing.

Sawyer trusts me.

And having that control nearly makes me forget the reasons I was angry to begin with.

I try forgetting about Dawson and any interest he had in the girl who’s writhing under my touch. I try pushing away the trouble he’s in and the more than likely illegal firearm hehas on top of God knows how much money he’s taken from people. And I sure as hell don’t want a single thought of my father’s cruel words to enter my brain as my mouth acquaints itself with the warmest part of her.

In this moment, I do more than exist in a world where I try my best to keep to myself without intervening in things I can’t change. Because I want to take charge of this moment; I want to soak in every second. Every kiss, suck, and nip that draws noises from my neighbor drowns out the demons poking my conscience, reminding me that I’m here. That she’s here.

Nothing besides us matters.

She claws at my shirt, so I take it off.

Her shirt follows.

There’s a moment of hesitation before she unclasps her bra behind her, leaving her completely bare in front of me.

I stare, mesmerized.

“What’s this?” I ask, reaching out to brush what looks like a bump with a scar just under her collarbone.

She stops me, her fingers quickly wrapping around my wrist before I make contact. “It’s an old injury,” she explains, squeezing me once. “I don’t like people touching it.”

I nod in understanding, bringing her hand to my mouth and kissing the back of it. “You really are beautiful. Do you know that?”

My eyes rake over every inch of skin until she squirms, her hands reaching out to undo the button of my jeans. They shake, and I wonder if she’s nervous. I let her take her time, watching as she pops the button and slowly lowers the zipper before tugging on the waistband of the denim.

I’m painfully hard by the time she frees me, swallowing a moan when her soft palm wraps around me and gives anexperimental stroke. “If you keep doing that, this is going to be over before it starts.”

---