Page 187 of The Fall
“Torey,” he breathes.
My chest heaves as I hover, lips inches from his, caught in the pull of him. Every inch of me yearns to close the gap again, to drown in the heat of his mouth, but I linger for a heartbeat longer.
His hand settles over my heart. Can he feel it? Can he feel how desperately I’ve wanted this—him—for so long that the wanting has turned me inside out?
Our kiss breaks, but only for air. Our foreheads rest together, eyes closed, breath mingling in short, sharp gasps. Moonlight paints silver stripes across his face. He looks wrecked and beautiful. I’m trembling for him, with love for him, with the need to show him every unspoken thing tangled up inside me.
“Is this okay? We don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” he says. “God, I want to.”
I surge forward, capturing his mouth again, pouring everything I can’t say into the kiss. His arms tighten around me, and we roll until I’m beneath him. The kiss deepens until it stops being one kiss and becomes a whole conversation, one I’ve waited so long to have that I scream every syllable of it.
The room dissolves into skin and breath and the faint rustle of cotton sheets. There is a terrifying rightness to his lips moving over mine, as if we’ve done this a thousand times when we’ve barely begun.
His kiss turns desperate, as if he’s been starving for this as long as I have. His cock hardens against my thigh. My hands find the hem of his shirt. He inhales, muscles jumping beneath my touch as I trace the ridges of his abs and the dip of his navel.
He helps me peel his shirt off, arms lifting as I drag the fabric over his head.
I’ve seen him shirtless countless times in the locker room, but never like this, never in the quiet light of his bedroom. Shadows play across the planes of his chest, highlighting every dip and curve of muscle. The moonlight turns his skin to marble. I spread my palms against his chest, drinking in the heat of him, the steady thud of his heart. His skin burns against mine.
A small scar curves along his collarbone and I follow its path with my fingertip.
“Puck went high,” he says. “In Bantam.”
I kiss the scar, and then I kiss the hollow of his throat, the curve of his shoulder, the dip between his pecs. His heartbeat kicks against my kiss, and his head falls back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath comes faster as my fingers trail lower, following the thin line of hair that disappears beneath his waistband.
He pulls me up to kiss me again, deep and slow, and I melt against him. His hands frame my face, holding me like he can memorize every atom. “Tell me what you want,” he says, his thumb brushing my lower lip. There’s a quiet, wrecked longing buried within him, seeping out now.
What I want is everything: every touch, every kiss, every moment I can have. “You,” I say simply. “You.”
His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips, then slip under my shirt. He tugs at the hem, breaking the kiss only long enough to ask, “Can I take this off?”
I nod. Cool air hits my skin, raising goosebumps across my chest.
“God, Torey,” he breathes, running his hands over my shoulders, down my chest.
I dip my head to kiss him again as his fingers explore me, mapping every inch. When his thumb brushes over my nipple, I shudder, pressing closer.
My hands shake as I trace the edge of his sweats, dipping just below the elastic.
“Can I?” I whisper.
He nods, lifting his hips. “Yes.”
I pull his sweatpants down, revealing black boxer briefs stretched tight over his thick erection. My mouth goes dry at the damp spot where he’s leaked through the cotton. I drag my thumb over it, and he bucks against my hand with a sharp intake of breath.
“Torey,” he gasps.
I press my thumb harder against the damp fabric, circling slowly, feeling the heat of him seep through. His hips jerk again, and a low, broken sound escapes his throat.
I drag my lips over the outline of him, tasting faint salt through the cotton.
He trembles under me, muscles tensing as he fights to hold still. My hands slide up his thighs, thumbs brushing his sensitive inner skin. I want to tear his briefs away and feel every inch of him bare against me, but I hold back, savoring the slow burn of this moment. My tongue licks against the damp spot at the head of his cock, and he groans.
“Fuck,” Blair breathes, voice rough like gravel. I look up at him, catch the way his head tips back, exposing the long column of his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
I hook under the waistband of his briefs, pausing long enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, pupils blown wide. My heart pounds so hard it’s a drum in my ears.
