Page 25 of If You Never Come Back
“You are everything to me, Shay.” He speaks through broken breath, water dripping from his face, his eyes still fire. “You know that, right?”
I nod. Even though I know he’s still holding back, I know he means this. And it’s enough for me right now.
“You know that you’re everything to me too, don’t you?” I gasp.
I hope he hears the conviction in my voice; I hope he knows that since he’s my everything, he can tell me everything too.
There’s a nod from and another desperate string of kisses. One of his hands slides down between my legs. His thick fingers press against me, and the heat is like heaven. He moves in quick circles, each one twisting me tighter and tighter into myself.
He scrapes his teeth against my shoulder, and I groan. Tilting his head, he leans his mouth to my ear. “You have me, Shay. Every last part of me.”
His growl shoves me right to the edge. Another few circles and I’m gone, freefalling off the edge.
I screamyes, I screamplease, I screammore. He delivers, sliding his fingers inside me as I ride out the rest of my orgasm on wobbly knees. If his hands are soft bliss, his body is a concrete haven. I thrash and grab and bite him through my climax, but he stays as still.
When I come down, I grab the back of his neck with one hand. The other slides from his shoulder to the hardness between his legs.
I kiss and lick over the claw marks I left on his shoulder, but all he does is smile. “Hottest thing in the world is seeing your marks on me.”
With him in my palm, I slide back and forth. His smile turns to a straight line of concentration a minute later. I dollop body wash into my hand and quicken my strokes. He responds with a growl and eyebrows pinched together.
That far-off stare takes over his eyes. I tip-toe up to kiss him.
“You have me too, Wes,” I say into his mouth after another kiss. “All of me.”
Burying his face into my shoulder, he presses his teeth against my skin. The perfect balance of pleasure and pain. He spills into my hand seconds later.
While he breathes through his own comedown, I wrap my hands around him, pressing soft kisses across his chest. My own chest swells with joy, with an emotional satisfaction I’ve never known before. In this moment, it’s all okay. Maybe Wes can’t speak the words that I want him to say right now, but his body has told me so much more. And it’s enough. If I can have him like this—his feelings, his stare, his heart all mine—I can wait for the words.
Chapter Eight
“Thanks again for agreeing to come.” I gaze over at Wes sitting in the passenger seat of my car.
The smile he flashes is tight. I don’t blame him at all. Meeting the parents is never fun. I’ve done it a few times myself with guys I’ve dated and it’s always nerve-racking. Best case scenario, it’s awkward hugging and stilted conversation. Worst case scenario, it’s so uncomfortable you wish you could peel your skin off just to have something else to do.
I was careful when I asked him if he wanted to meet them yesterday. Mom had been bombarding me with texts and calls over the past week, asking when I was finally going to bring my new boyfriend over for her and Dad to meet. Finally, I gave in and asked Wes if he’d be up for it. With that same tight smile on his face, he said yes.
With one hand on the steering wheel, I reach for his hand. The gentle squeeze I give him seems to do something. He turns his stare from the road ahead to me. His eyes thaw to something more tender; his brow smooths from its wrinkled frown.
“Seriously, thank you,” I say. “It really does mean a lot that you’re meeting them. Gushing about you over the phone just isn’t cutting it anymore.”
My try for something lighthearted to ease his nerves seems to have worked. The soft laugh he lets out is music to my ears after a twenty-minute silence during this car ride.
“That’s a lot to live up to,” he says, his lightly tanned cheeks flushing red.
“Just be yourself. You’ll blow them away.”
When I pull into my parents’ block, I scan the dozen cars lining the street. One of their neighbors must be having a get-together. I pull into their driveway, then take Wes’s hand in mine as we walk up to the door.
Before I can offer a few last words of encouragement, Mom bursts out the front door, arms as wide as her smile as she trots to us.
She pays me a brief moment of eye contact before pulling Wes down into a hug. Even with him bent at the waist to meet her tiny size, he still dwarfs her five-foot-tall self.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” she says in her signature sing-song voice. With Wes in her embrace, she sways back and forth, like she’s rocking a baby.
Wes twists his head, his wide, unblinking gaze meeting mine. Again I open my mouth to say sorry and politely tell her to release him from her death-hug, but then my dad trots out from the front door.
“Oh, Gloria. Let the poor guy go before you crack his ribs.” He pats his slight potbelly before chuckling. He pulls me into a hug before I can do anything to help Wes. “How you doin’, sweetie? Good to see you.”
