Page 46 of Formula Freedom
The screen doorcreaks as it shuts behind Reid and he brings the last of the dishes into the kitchen. After a long day on the water, we hit the grocer and grabbed a few steaks and some veggies. Reid grilled everything up to perfection and we sipped Point Break Pale Ales. We’ve had a nonstop running conversation and I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed talking to someone as much as I have today.
I mean, he’s the same old Reid, and we’ve got thousands upon thousands of words between us, but we’ve both changed over the years. Things are different now, and it’s opened a floodgate of deeper topics to discuss. I imagine the fact that we’ve been intimate, that he’s asked me to go to Monaco and then Zurich with him, and that he’s protecting me from Lance has changed the dynamics in a way that bonds us differently from what we’ve ever known before as just friends.
But right now, it’s a companionable silence as we clean up the dinner dishes. He scrapes the remaining food into the bin and slides them into the soapy water. I wash and he takes up beside me, rinsing and drying. Reid puts stuff away into the cabinets and I wipe down the counters. When the kitchen is spotless, I fold the towel over a hook beside the sink and turn to him.
And I inhale sharply.
The look on his face is almost feral and my heart gallops away from me. He’s not said a word, hasn’t touched me, but those eyes tell a story that he wants me beyond reason, causing my skin to prickle.
It’s not like earlier—on the water, laughter bubbling between us as we paddled out past the break. The air is charged and dangerous, humming in my chest.
Reid’s watching me like he’s trying to find the right words. It looks a bit painful, to be honest.
“You don’t have to overthink this,” I say, my lips twitching to fight back a smile.
“I’m not overthinking,” he replies, voice low. “I’m just trying to figure out how many orgasms I can give you tonight.”
My breath catches and I’m pretty sure my panties are now soaked. I’ve never felt so desired before. He makes it seem like I’m a dream that he never wants to end.
I take a step forward, closing the space between us. “Then let me help.”
Emboldened, I kiss him before he can kiss me. Soft at first, just a brush, but then I lean in, and he deepens it, hands rising to cup my jaw. His mouth is warm and familiar, and something in me releases.
He tastes like beer and ocean salt, and I lose myself in it—his mouth, his hands, the way he walks me backward toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom.
We don’t speak as he peels off his T-shirt, his fingers grazing mine as I reach for the hem of my tank. His eyes roam slowly over my bare skin, not with urgency, but reverence. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “But I never knew quite how to tell you that. It was never… appropriate.”
“You make me feel beautiful,” I say as his hand comes to the center of my chest.
I lie back on the bed, the same bed I’ve had since I was a teenager, but nothing about this is adolescent. This isn’t fumbling or fast or uncertain. This is deliberate.
Adult.
Earned.
Reid stretches out beside me, his fingertips skating across my ribs. I shiver, not from cold, but from anticipation. From the quiet power of being seen like this.
I press my hand over his thumping heart. “I’m going to admit something to you that might make me seem like a horrible person, but I want you to know that I missed this.”
Reid’s eyes come to mine and he blinks, confusion written on his face. “Missed this?”
My cheeks flush with the pending admission. “Just that one time with you… it changed me. Knowing what I had even for a singular night, and then I didn’t have it anymore… I missed it. It was an intimacy I’ve never experienced before, and I’m trying to figure out whatever we are and how I can hold on to it.”
“We’re figuring it out,” he says. Then his lips are on my neck, my collarbone, my shoulder. “But I know I’ve wanted you for a long time. And after our one night together, I thought about it more than I should have.”
My body arches toward his, seeking more. His hands slide down my sides and when he undoes the button of my shorts, I lift my hips so he can ease them down. It takes no thought at all to surrender to him. The way he looks at me… like I’m a present he’s wanted to unwrap for years.
My own hands find the waistband of his joggers, tugging them down with far less patience. I need him close. I need the press of his body, the heat of his skin, the proof that this isn’t some fantasy playing tricks on me.
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times before, like every space between us was designed to be filled by the other. He touches me with care, with confidence, and I can’t stop the soft moan that escapes when his fingers find the spot that makes my breath hitch.
“Lara,” he murmurs, like my name is the answer to a question he’s carried for too long.
I pull him down to me, our mouths meeting again, hands tangled, skin slick with desire. When he finally pushes into me, I feel everything—every beat of the past, every second we lost, every piece of me waking back up.
We find a rhythm quickly—easy, fluid, slow at first, then building with every gasp and stuttered breath. My nails rake gently down his back. His hand curls under my knee, angling me closer, deeper.
There’s nothing else in the world. Just this. Just him. Just us.
