Page 97 of Kismet

Yes, he still gave me absolutely zero communication in the matter.

But… but his reasoning isn’t what I thought, and it sounds like he wasn’t in his right mind when he left. If it were me in his position, I can’t say with a whole heart that I wouldn’t have done the same damn thing.

I vaguely remember hearing about that accident. Someone at school knew the victim. I didn’t know any specific details, just that it had happened. My heart hurts for him and everything he witnessed and had to deal with. And he essentially did it alone. Yes, he had Molly, but I can’t help but think… he could’ve had me. I could’ve been there for him, helped him through the dark time, but he didn’t let me. Didn’t even give me the choice.

Which Idoget. What he had to go through is a lot, and even trying to think of anyone’s feelings and emotions other than your own, when you probably can’t even decipher how you’re feeling, must be next to impossible.

Still, more than anything, I wish he would’ve communicated with me. Not left me completely in the dark. I spent years—years—wondering what I did wrong, where it shattered, what I could’ve done differently… when it wasn’t ever me to begin with.

His lips leave mine, trailing along my jaw and down my neck, lighting fire to every inch of skin he touches. We’ve been kissing for all of five minutes, and I’m already going out of my mind with need. Embers flare to life between us as I walk him backwards toward my room. Life without our hands all over each other right now is impossible.

I don’t bother turning on the light once we cross through the threshold as he continues to walk backwards until his legs hit my bed. He doesn’t sit right away, instead reaching for the hem of my shirt, yanking it over my head. Reaching and doing the same to him, I toss the shirt on the ground before my lips find their way to his chest. His flesh is blazing hot as I trail kisses all along the open expanse.

My hands come to his pecs, shoving him until he falls back onto the bed, and I greedily drink him in. Every inch of him—every exposed muscle, every hard line, every divot and dip. Even the shameless bulge in his pants that makes my mouth water.

I stupidly believed I could hate him. Believed I could stay away from him. Believed I could save myself. But there’s no saving myself from Stone. There is no universe where he and I could be anything other than connected. Our hearts and our souls are strung together by some invisible life force that can’t be severed. It’s as unapologetic as it is unavoidable. My body was meant to be loved, to be worshiped by him, and him, me. It’s undeniable, like fate.

Like kismet.

My body comes down, blanketing him as my hands rest on either side of his head. He’s such a fucking beautiful man. It sometimes hurts how beautiful he is. His hair is thick and black as night. Running my fingers through it feels like touching silk. His eyes are full of depth, a beautiful shade of deep brown, and they’re surrounded by a curtain of thick, black eyelashes that look too perfect to be real.

His brows are thick, but not too thick. They frame his face, which is made up of sharp lines and angles, flawlessly. His beard has gotten fuller over the years. Slightly longer. He has a few salt and pepper strands mixed in with the black, but not many. He wears his age well.

He’s a work of art. I could stare at him all day, every day, for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn’t feel like enough.

I lower my head, pressing my lips down on his pink, slightly pouty ones. He opens for me automatically, as if he doesn’t even have to think about it. When my tongue dips inside and tastes him—mint and tobacco—he sighs into my mouth, and goosebumps break out all over my skin at the soft sound.

We easily get lost to one another, lost in the kiss, the passion. When his tongue strokes against mine, I forget the world around us. It’s just him and me, in this moment together. And honestly? There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

It doesn’t take long for us both to become painfully hard, hips rutting into one another, and for a while, we don’t do anything more than that—making out on the bed and dry humping like we’re teenagers. We’re both panting, and my skin feels electric. Everywhere he touches feels like a direct line to my aching dick.

Wrapping his legs around me, he flips us so he’s on top. He gazes at me with such an intensity it gives me chills. It’s like he can see directly into my soul, and hell, he probably can. It’s always felt that way, and at this point, it truly wouldn’t surprise me.

“Are you okay?” he asks sheepishly. “Is this where you want to be?” His deep voice rumbles through my body.

“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m sure.” And I am.

“I don’t want you to wake up and regret the whole thing…” He leaves out the“like last time,”but I know it’s there.

Shaking my head, I hold his gaze when I speak. “I’m not going to regret it. I could never regret anything with you. That doesn’t mean everything is all better, because it’s not, and it doesn’t mean I won’t have questions, because I will, and it doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt, because I am—and I probably will be for a while. But I could never regret a single moment with you, Stone.”

His eyes get misty before he closes them and kisses me. Just like before, there’s no urgency in the kiss—sweet, soft brushes of his lips, long, slow strokes of his tongue. My mind blanks and my body lights up like a Christmas tree when he presses the bottom half of his body against mine, his long, hard cock rubbing along my equally hard length.

I can’t help the gasp that comes out or the way my back arches as I thrust up, trying to maintain the friction I’m dying for. My body is thrumming for him, vibrating with a need so strong, I may combust.

Wrapping my arms around him, I rake my nails up and down his taut, muscled back, loving the feeling of him trembling under my hands. His lips leave mine and work their way down my throat toward my chest, flicking his tongue across my nipple before grazing his teeth over it. I bite down on my lip and throw my head back. The feeling of his mouth on my body is sublime, especially when his hands trail lower, dancing around my waist.

His mouth catches up to his hands, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the visible part of my V. Then he licks a hot, wet line along my waistband before hooking his fingers underneath, tugging them down. An icy-hot wave races through my body as my cock springs free.

Face flushed, his gaze travels up to meet mine, eyes almost black as his pupils swallow his irises. His hair, which seems to be almost dry now, hangs in his face in natural waves. My fingers thread through the thick strands, tugging lightly as he starts to speak.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, pressing his lips to my thigh. “So much.” Another kiss.

The sincerity in his tone is staggering, and it has raw emotion burning the back of my throat. I’ve spent many,manynights desperately wishing to hear him say those words. Wishing I could feel his hands on my body again. Now that it’s happening, it doesn’t seem real. Like at any point, I’ll wake up and realize it had all been a dream.

Realizehehad been a dream.

My mouth is dry, tongue coated in chalk, as I try to speak. “I missed you too, Stone.” The words come out raspy. My heart is thumping hard behind my ribs and my breathing is coming out shallow. I’m falling apart before his eyes while he simultaneously puts me back together again.

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