Page 58 of Don't Fall

Chapter Fifteen

Tessa

Dick’s food barely lands in his bowl before his incessant complaining simmers down into a happy purr, vibrating from him as I slide my hand over his soft coat in an apology for taking so long.

I’m just putting the bag of cat food back into the pantry when I hear the front door open. Several comments about whether or not Lane can smell me from where he’s standing run through my mind, but he’s made his way to the kitchen before I can get any of them out.

“Goddamn,” he hisses under his breath, his eyes piercing mine, turning everything inside me into lost pieces screaming to be put back to where they belong. Him. An eternity of torture passes before he takes two swift strides to get to me. Breath hot and thready, his mouth hovers briefly over mine, then moves in, crushing my lips and sliding his tongue between them to meet mine.

“Should we move this to the bedroom?” I ask, barely catching my breath while his mouth carries on down my neck, sliding over my collar bone, tongue and teeth taking their turn with my skin.

“No time,” he moans, hand slipping into the back of my pajama bottoms, taking them down as he goes. Then his lips are back on mine, fueling the urgency of his hands as they roam over me, removing my clothes and bringing me closer to him, pulling me tighter, until there’s nothing left between us. Until we’re both on the kitchen floor, matching each other move for move, breath for breath, need for need.

I find myself climbing recklessly, ever higher, ever freer, all of my inhibitions falling away under him, until there’s nowhere left to go, but to shatter beautifully in his arms.

Slowly, reality works its way back in. The cold tile floor against my bare skin. The feel of his hand still resting on my thigh. The sound of his breath, fast and shallow, right beside me.

“What. The hell. Was. That?” I’m not complaining. On the contrary. I’d like to know how to recreate the event in the future.

He chuckles softly, his fingers pressing gently into my leg. “Proof you should never walk into my classroom before class ever again.” He rolls onto his side, arm grazing my skin as he moves his hand from my thigh up to my stomach, reaching around my waist, fingertips tracing circles up and down the side of my ribcage. I watch as eyes follow their motion. “You’re incredible, you know that? Every inch of you, just another spectacular detail coming together in a masterpiece I want to be a part of every time I lay my eyes on it,” he says in his husky growl, a tone I’ve come to call his post-sex voice, which usually leads to also being his pre-sex voice. It’s a vicious cycle neither of us seems to have a hold on yet.

“I think you’re a little weird,” I whisper.

He lifts his head to face me, frowning. “Why?”

“Because,” I laugh uncomfortably, “you make me sound like I’m this irresistible sex goddess or something. And we both know that’s not true.” When he walked in, I was wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt for crying out loud. And even now, my hair is still wet from the shower, sticking to my face in some places and hanging limp in others. Not exactly sex goddess material here.

Lane doesn’t say anything for what seems like forever. Just stares at me, studying me the way he has from day one, making me feel crazy, and insecure and also, oddly flattered. I’m on the verge of carrying on my previous ramble just to break the awkward silence, when his hand glides up my side, over my shoulder and along my neck until it comes to rest along my jaw, gently holding my chin between his thumb and index finger. “No other woman has ever made me lose control the way you do, Tess. Whatever you think you see when you look in the mirror, I guarantee you, it doesn’t come close to the woman who’s really standing there. Fucking. Irresistible. Sex. Goddess. And then some.”

I respond by attempting to stand up, only his arm is in my way and he’s quick to apply pressure to hold me down and thwart me in my efforts to escape all of this complimentary chitchat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmurs, moving in closer.

“I’m not...I can’t,” I fumble with the words. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. What can’t I? Accept that someone like him could really see me the way he claims to? Or am I the one who really can’t see myself?

“I’ll stop,” he rumbles, his mouth taking the place of his finger along my jaw, “I won’t tell you anymore. But you can’t stop me from showing you. Can’t stop me from making you feel it. And I’m not going to quit until you believe it for yourself.”

I want to ask him why he cares. Why it matters what I believe. And why it suddenly feels as if his every touch is different from before, more intimate. More intentional. More emotional.

But it’s too late. I’m wrapped up in him, my body folded into his, no end or beginning in sight and it all feels too damn good to question any of it.

Somewhere along the way, we make it to his bedroom and by the time we come up for air, we need more than just oxygen to sustain us.

“Pasta,” I mumble, rolling off the mattress to my feet. “I’ll make some.”

“Carbs would be good,” he muses, watching me from the bed while I search through the current collection of clothes he has draped over his desk chair. I decide on a t-shirt and head for the door, still pulling it over my head as I go. “You’re killin’ me, Tess,” he groans from behind me and a giddy swirl of delight unfurls in the pit of my stomach.

Maybe I don’t need to think about it all so much. Maybe it’s okay to just be in the moment and enjoy how it feels for however long it feels this way.

Then the front door opens, Drea gasps, and thinking is back in full force.

“Time to bring back the sock,” Scott announces following close behind her and clearly entertained by the scene before him, which I realize a little too late includes a naked Lane who made it halfway to the kitchen before they walked in and caught us. Me in his shirt and him in, well, nothing.

“I’m not hanging a stupid sock on the door handle,” I grumble, tugging the hem of my shirt down as far as it will possibly go, while Lane scrambles to get back into the bedroom.

“I second that,” Drea agrees with me, “we’re not living in some dorm. There are other, more grown up ways to keep from walking in on one another.”

“Yeah, like knocking!” Lane calls out from behind the closed door.

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