Page 136 of The Space Between
My fingers thread into his hair, anchoring myself to something real as he licks, sucks, nibbles, and groans into me. His teeth and tongue work in tandem, building the wave as I grind into his face. When I come, it’s not quiet.
It’s a cry torn from somewhere deep and trembling. “Gruene… oh shit… oh, baby… Ohhhhhhh… I love you. God, I love you.” He holds me through all of it—his mouth still moving, his tongue still stimulating me, drawing every last tremor from my body until I’m slumping against the mattress, boneless and breathless.
He stands, his eyes dark. His jaw tight. His cock is hard, flushed, and leaking at the tip. I reach for him without hesitation.
“I need to be inside you, Blakelyn,” he growls against my neck.
“Then, take me, Gruene,” I breathe. “I’m yours.”
His breath shudders against my skin and then, he lifts me onto his lap—my legs wrap around his waist, my chest presses to his—he guides himself inside with one slow, deep thrust that makes us both moan.
We hold there, pressed tightly together, connected in the most intimate way.
He groans as I start to move. “Yes, baby. You’re in control…”
He gave me this. Even though I said I wanted him, he’s giving me control…
God, I love him.
I ride him. It’s not frantic. It’s not performative. It’s fuckingintimate.
I slide him out to the tip before slowly sinking back down on him until his balls touch my ass. I move slowly, deeply. Every glide is a claim. He doesn’t thrust into me. His hands are on my hips. He’s just letting me take what I need.
He doesn’t stop kissing me—my mouth, my throat, the hollow between my breasts—as his hands roam over every inch of me like he’s trying to remember me with touch alone.
I kiss him back just as fiercely and when I say, “I love you,” this time—it’s not an echo. It’s an anchor.
His breathing stutters. He groans, burying his face in my neck. “Say it again.” His hips start to move as though he can’t remain still any longer. He thrusts up as I bear down.
I say, “I love you.”
“God, Blakelyn—” He swallows, his hips picking up the pace. The sound of our bodies meeting is wet and hot andsodamn real.
Tension winds in my belly again—tight and urgent—and I hold onto him, gripping his shoulders as I grind down, hitting just the right spot with every movement, I moan again, “Mmmmmm, I’m close.”
“Me, too.” He grunts. It ends on a growl that sounds like pure sin. He thrusts one more time—hard and deep—and I come apart around him, pulsing and crying out as he follows, spilling inside me with a guttural moan. “Oh, baby. I love you, Blakelyn.”
We stay like that. Breathing. Shaking. Clinging.
No longer two broken pieces colliding but something more.
Something whole.
CHAPTER 23
Blakelyn
My classroom smellslike whiteboard markers, paper, and nerves.
I stand at the front of the room in my favorite pair of flats, my lanyard swinging against my chest, watching my sixth-period kids file out like they’ve been set free from a weeklong sentence.
It’s hot and I haven’t stopped thinking about him since the second I woke up this morning, since the second he kissed me goodbye like it hurt.
Not a brush of lips. Not a graze. A real kiss. A realgoodbye, even though it wasn’t one.
Gruene Cavanaugh said he loved me over a week ago with his hands bleeding and his body shaking and his voice scraped raw. I said it back. I meant it like I’ve never meant anything before. We’ve said it again. More than once. But it’s almost like we don’t know what the hell to do with it.
He drove me to school yesterday and this morning. I’ve slept in his bed every night since. He’s stayed beside me. Every night. He hasn’t left. Neither have I. I don’t think he wants to. I don’t.
