Page 171 of The Fall
He goes stone-still, and his voice is a whisper. “Torey...” My name sounds so naked on his lips.
I lift my face to his and brush my nose against his. I cup his jaw, where tomorrow’s beard is already starting to roughen his skin. His breath is shallow and fast against my hair. Months of wanting and of pretending not to want, of glances across the ice, across rooms, across carefully maintained professional boundaries, all of it leading here.
He exhales, and then he’s kissing me. His hands slide up my back, pulling me to him until there’s no space between us. Full lips. Hot silence. He tastes like someone who’s been starved for softness.
I crawl into his lap.
His thighs flex beneath me as I settle against him, strong and solid from years on the ice. My knees bracket his hips, and I griphis shoulders to steady myself. The cotton of his shirt bunches under my fingers. I’m dizzy with the nearness of him, with how real this is after so many nights of imagining.
“God,” he breathes against my mouth. “You’re?—”
I don’t let him finish; I capture his lips again. I don’t need words right now.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him with a sigh that he swallows. Slow, everything is unbearably slow. Heat gathers at every point where our bodies meet.
He runs a hand through my hair, cupping the back of my head. I rock forward, and he groans, the sound vibrating through both of us.
I can’t hold still; my hands cradle his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone. Every part of him I’ve memorized from a distance is warm and real and here. I could stay here forever, never breathe again unless it’s through him.
His hands glide down my back, pulling me closer. His mouth moves from mine to trail kisses down my neck, and I tip my head back, giving him access.
“Blair,” I breathe, threading my hands through his hair. “Don’t stop.”
My hips rock against him, seeking friction, seeking closeness. He groans so deeply that I feel it in my soul. His hands slide under my shirt and skim my ribs. Then he pushes, just the tiniest bit, slowing us down.
We break apart, both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine. The last blush of sunset clings to his cheekbones as I study his face— swollen lips, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. He’s trembling.
“Timeout. I—I need a minute.” His voice is thunder beneath silk. “Fuck, you drive me crazy.”
I brush my thumb across his lower lip. “Good crazy?”
“The best kind.” His hands coast the length of my thighs. They stop at my knees, squeezing gently. His smile is small but devastating. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
I want to tell him I do know, because he does the same to me.
“I hope I can be enough for you.”
It knocks the air out of me. “Enough for me?”
“You seem… confident, and I… I haven’t done this a whole lot, especially with someone I care about.” His eyes drop to where his hands rest on my knees. “I’m worried I’ll disappoint you.”
I stare at him, trying to process his words. The absurdity makes me want to laugh, but the vulnerability in his expression stops me.
“Blair,” I say, taking his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.”
His eyes search mine, doubt still lingering in their depths. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” I want to say,You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. Everything I think I know about love starts and ends with you.
Everything I know—all the slow sugar perfection, how my body learned to sigh and arch, the taste that my lips and my tongue crave, the waves I climbed and crashed—I stole from my dreams of him. I only know what I know and want what I want because it’s always been him. I loved him breathlessly for a year I didn’t live; he is the only lover I have imagined since, touching myself alone in the dark, imagining his hands in place of my own, his lips on my thighs and my abs and my neck. He is the beginning and end of my desires; he defines every one. All my certainty is him.
Everything I know about wanting a man, and about how to touch and taste and love one, I learned from him.
His voice is so raw. “I don’t know if I’m good at this. Relationships aren’t— I’ve never really tried, not the way I want to with you.”
I lean in and let him taste my certainty. He pulls me in, holding me close.
The kiss is different this time. His fingers thread through mine where they rest on his thigh, and I squeeze back, trying to tell him without words that we’ll figure this out together.
