Page 16 of True Fate

“Jesus,” he whispered, his head rising to block the moonlight spilling through a break in the curtains. Firelight shimmered across his face and chest, revealing a man who was disheveled, breathless, endearingly undone. He looked like something out of a dream. Almost too wonderful to believe.

He hung his head, the weight of his body pressing her into the floor, and the rush of love that followed hit so fast and deep it nearly undid her.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, his voice frayed.

“I’m better than okay.” Her body pulsed in places long neglected, longforgotten. Joy washed over her, a river surging in full force. She glided her lips down his throat, over his jaw, needing totouch.

It was the only way to stop herself from saying what pressed at the edge of every breath. That she loved him, had always loved him. But instinct told her he wouldn’t want to hear it. Not now. He wouldn’t trust the words.

Shouldering the sweat from his brow, Justin’s gaze swept over her, his golden eyes darkening with desire all over again. “Hungry?”

“Yes,” Lainey said, curling her hand around the nape of his neck and bringing his mouth to hers.

For tonight—maybe only tonight—Justin True was hers.

And she wasn’t about to waste the gift.

“But not for food.”

chapterseven

No One Else–Weezer

LAINEY

Lainey woke slowly,a hazy image from her dream lingering behind her eyes—Justin, holding her arms above her head as he thrust into her, their bodies tangled in heat and pleasure.

Only, it wasn’t a dream.

She pressed a hand to her flushed cheek. After everything they’d shared in the last twelve hours, blushing felt a little ridiculous.

Without opening her eyes, she reached for him, only to find cool sheets and solitude. She wanted him again. She wanted himforever. Sitting up, she swallowed hard against the knot of fear tightening in her throat.

Maybe the obsession was hers—and hers alone.

She glanced around his bedroom, searching. Sleek furniture, subtle overlays of color, pillows strewn across the floor like petals—a perfect reflection of Justin’s minimalist style. Last night, she’d barely noticed anything beyond the softness of the mattress he’d dropped her onto before climbing over her, claiming her with the same fierce intensity he had thirteen years ago.

A soft laugh escaped her as she remembered.

During the last round, they’d tumbled to the floor, where he’d pulled her on top of him, and somewhere in that breathless tangle, she’d finally understood what it meant to belong to one person, body and soul.

Lainey’s breath caught when she found him.

His long body sprawled in a leather chair pulled close to the window, wearing nothing but jeans—the same worn denim from yesterday morning, the button-fly half undone in his haste. A graphite pencil in one hand, a sketchpad in the other, his head bowed as he drew furiously…paused…then began again.

Fascinated, because even back then she’d rarely seen him work, she quietly slid from the bed, bringing the sheet with her.

He was so absorbed in his art, he didn’t notice her.

The scent of their passion still clung to her skin, the honeyed taste of him lingering on her tongue. She’d returned the oral favor in the shower. A truly powerful feeling, bringing him, quite literally, to his knees.

As a floorboard creaked beneath her, Justin stilled, an unreadable emotion tightening the skin around his eyes and mouth. His head lifted. Their gazes held for a long moment before he dragged a hand through his hair and looked away.

“What are you sketching?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

He tapped his pencil against the page, as if he debating what to say.

His hair stood in ebony tufts, and dense stubble shadowed his jaw. A bite mark—one she clearly remembered giving him during their impassioned foray on the floor—rested like an exclamation point on his neck. His lean belly contracted as he exhaled. “Putting images on paper helps me clear my mind. You know that, Lain. Or you used to.”

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