Page 70 of My End
The room was dark, lit only by the faint silver light of the moon sneaking through the window. The soft hum of the fan overhead stirred the air just enough to keep the heat from swallowing us whole, but not enough to cool the fire rolling under my skin.
Tilly was stretched out beneath me, her skin warm and flushed, her breathing fast but steady. My fingers traced the side of her throat, down to her collarbone, and skimmed that soft spot where paint always seemed to smudge when she worked.
She looked up at me with those eyes, wide, daring, soft. Trusting.
I bent my head and kissed her slowly. Deeply. Like I had all the time in the world to relearn every curve of her mouth and every sound she made when I touched her.
Her hands slid up my chest, nails scratching lightly down my sides. Her legs wrapped around my hips, pulling me closer, and fuck if I didn’t lose every coherent thought right then and there.
I rocked into her, slow and controlled, feeling every inch of her against me. Her breath hitched, and her hands clutched at my shoulders like she needed something to anchor her to this world.
“Tilly…” I murmured, my voice low and rough.
She arched into me, and her lips parted on a moan. “God, Stretch…”
That name on her lips did something to me. Something primal and protective and absolutely wrecked with want.
Her hips rose to meet mine, and I lost the slow rhythm I’d been clinging to. My control snapped like a live wire, and I surged forward, kissing her hard, moving faster, deeper, drivenby the sound of her breathing. The way her fingers tightened in my hair, and the soft gasp of my name against my mouth.
She was everything.
This moment, this woman, and this bed. The chaos outside didn’t exist here. The danger. The secrets. The years I’d spent trying to find purpose.
None of it mattered.
Only her.
She came apart beneath me with a cry that I swallowed with my lips, as her body arched and trembled as I followed. I buried my face against her neck as I groaned her name and gave in completely.
I collapsed beside her, my heart slamming against my ribs, and sweat cooled across my back as I reached for her.
She rolled toward me, smiling and breathless as her cheek rested on my shoulder.
“I don’t think I’ll evernotwant to do that,” she laughed, her voice raspy and glowing.
I chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of her head before tugging the covers over us both. “That’s good,” I whispered, “because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.”
We lay in the quiet and stared up at the ceiling while her fingers drew lazy circles on my chest.
After a while, she asked softly, “What’s your name?”
I turned my head to look at her. “Stretch.”
She huffed. “Nope. Iknowyour mother did not look at you when you were born and say, yup, his name is Stretch.”
I laughed, unable to help myself. “You would be correct, sweetheart.”
She tilted her head up slightly and propped her chin on my chest. “So?”
“For the first nineteen or so years of my life,” I said, “I went by Tyler.”
She made a face. “Hmph. I think I like Jake best.”
I smiled. “That would be my middle name. Jacob.”
She grinned like she’d just uncovered some secret treasure. “That’s why Jake fit you so well. It was part of your name.”
“Guess it was meant to be,” I murmured.
