Page 87 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
Noah’s tonguepushes into my mouth fierce, unrelenting, punishing in its pursuit to conquer mine. His arms band around me like a steel cage. On some level I know I’m not escaping them again. But escape is not what I’m looking for. At least not in that way. I want to escape the reality of my life, but not this. Not him.
This is the only thing right now that feels like it’s building me up instead of tearing me down. The intensity of his lips on mine is explosive and combustible. Hotter than anything I’ve come close to before.
He grabs my face in his hands. “I’m not leaving, Elle.”
Oh. So, we’re doing this now. Again.
“Okay,” I rasp.
“Not you, not the kids, not tonight, not Santa Luna,” he continues.
“Okay.” I nod shakily.
Wait.
“What do you mean not tonight?”
“You, the kids, our house, this life,” he says as if that explains it.
“Okay.” I don’t care what he means. I need him with an urgency I can’t fathom. “I need you, Noah, please.”
I tug at his shirt, pulling it free from his jeans and up around his neck so I can see his body and feel his skin. Ridges of tanned corded muscle jumping at my touch as my hands roam the expanse of his chest and arms. I put my nose against his pecs and inhale, getting drunk on his scent - all man and soap and strength and sex. With the sun just starting to peek on the horizon, there’s enough light to see his tattoos. My fingers tingle with excitement as they brush over his bare skin. Some are new, their meaning unknown to me.
But one remains the same.
Thetattoo.
Small. Simple. Just over his heart, inked in that deep black that never quite fades. Set apart from all the others. My breath catches before I can stop it. Because I know exactly what it is.
Address
Our house number. The one we once shared. The one I still live in. The one he left.
“You never changed it,” I whisper.
He swallows hard. “Wasn’t planning to.”
My hands are still on him, but the ground doesn’t feel steady anymore. I’m shook on so many different levels.
“Why?” I whisper.
He cups my face with his hands and looks at me reverently. “It was never not you.” His words are simple, but their meaning feels layered.
I fight for control over my emotions. Wanting to cry over all we’ve lost in one breath and shout my love for him in another.
I curse myself as I feel the first tear slip down my cheek.
He kisses it away. “Fuck, Elle. Don’t cry baby. Please.”
“You left us.” My voice hitches.
“To save you.” He sounds tortured.
“You divorced me,” I accuse.
“I didn’t have a choice.” He smooths my hair back from my face and continues to kiss away my tears, breaking my heart all over again with the tenderness in his touch. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“There’s always a choice,” I say.
