Page 8 of A Moment for Us
He moves his hand to the door and opens it, causing me to fall back, but he catches me quickly.
We stare at each other, my hands on his chest, my breathing sounding as though I’ve run a marathon. And I have. I’ve been running this same race for years, and now I see a finish line.
I know I’m over him.
I know that this is all it’ll ever be, and . . . I don’t care. I want this. I want whatever the hell this can be—once. I will finally know what it’s like to be with him and then I’ll be able to walk away.
He releases me and runs his hands through his hair. This is my only goddamn chance, and I can’t let him talk himself out of this.
“Josh, please,” I say, and that’s all it takes.
He walks toward me in two purposeful strides, and then his hands are on my face, holding me before our lips fuse again.
I tear at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. I don’t even get a second to look at him because our mouths can’t stay apart long enough.
Josh’s fingers pull at the fabric of my shirt, and I help him, removing it as I back up toward my bedroom. We walk, kissing the entire way. A part of me worries that, if we stop, we’ll come out of this fog and remember all the reasons this is a bad idea.
First being that I’m in love with him.
Second being that he does not love me.
But I’m not asking for more. I want what he offers now—sex.
“God, Delia.” His voice is deep and feels like a caress.
“Stop talking,” I tell him as we enter my room. “I don’t want words. I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel and touch and . . .”
“Fuck?” he finishes.
I nod. “There are no delusions here.”
Maybe if I say it, I’ll actually believe it.
“Good.”
Josh lifts me, and I giggle as he drops me on the bed. “No words, huh?”
I shrug. “Dirty ones are fine.”
“Yeah?” Josh grins. “Want me to tell you what I have planned?”
“I didn’t realize you had a plan.”
“I do. It’s been a long time that I’ve thought about this,” he confesses, and my heart rate accelerates.
No, Delia. Do not let that statement mean more. It’s not that he’s dreamed of you, just fucking you.
“I see,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.
His denim-colored eyes turn almost liquid as he runs a finger down my chest, stopping at the button of my jeans. “I plan to strip you down.”
“Good start.”
“Then I’m going to lick off every bit of icing or cake left on your body.”
“Now I wish I had bathed in it.”
He grins. “I do too, but don’t worry, sweetheart. I don’t plan to stop there.”
