Page 13 of The Forbidden Summer
The axe slips from his sweaty grip.
He bends to grab it, and I reach for it too.
Our hands touch. Just for a second. Skin on skin. Warm. Rough. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move, and neither do I.
We’re frozen in time, fingers tangled for the briefest, infinite moment.
My brain screams to pull back but my body doesn’t listen.
It’s nothing. It’severything.
This is the part where I’m supposed to make a joke, tease the awkwardness out of the moment, but nothing comes to mind.
Van looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes—sharp, knowing, soft. Like he feels it too. Like he wants me to see that he feels it. That scares me more than anything.
I straighten too fast. My fingers curl into fists, and I pretend it didn’t happen, that it was nothing.
Van makes a joke about static electricity. I laugh, but I shouldn’t.
Because all I can think about is the way his skin feels against mine. How I didn’t want to let go. How badly I want that moment to meansomething, and how terrified I am that it already does.
And worst of all?
That I don’t know if I want to stop it.
I lie awake staring at the ceiling, sheets tangled around my legs, skin too warm.
His voice is still in my ears. That grin. That damn casual intimacy he slips into everything.
He asked if I was okay.
He always asks. And I always lie.
Because what would I even say?
No, I’m not okay. I keep watching the way your mouth moves when you speak. I can’t stop imagining what your skin would feel like under my hands. I want you so badly it makes me feel like I’m coming undone.
No. I can’t say that.
I press the heel of my hand against my eyes, hard.
This isn’twho I am. I don’t lose control. I don’t want things I shouldn’t. I don’t look at people who don’t look back.
Except—God help me, hedoeslook back.
And every time he does, it knocks the air right out of me.
What happens if I let this happen?
What happens if I don’t?
I turn over and bury my face in the pillow like I can suffocate the heat, and the ache, and the longing that feels so much like weakness, I could spit.
I’m supposed to be better than this.
But tonight, that doesn’t feel like enough.
Rotating my hips, I rub my bare cock against the coarse sheets and bite back a sigh of pleasure. Shit, I’ve got to touch it, though I hate to do it with Van on my mind. It’s not the first time, though, and I bet it won’t be the last.
