Page 63 of Blindside Me
“I’ve been trying to stay away from you since the moment I saw you.” His voice is rough. “It’s not working.”
He says it like an apology, but his thumb traces my lower lip while caging his body around mine. I can’t even remember what I meant to say. Or if I ever had words at all. I’m not supposed to want this, not supposed to want him. My uncle would lose his mind if he knew Drew Klaas was here, inches from me, wanting.
But I’m so tired of pretending. So fucking tired.
“Then stop trying.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s thin and shaky and desperate.
Drew makes a sound in the back of his throat, hoarse and broken, and then he breathes, “Fuck it.” He crashes into me, mouth claiming mine so hard Istumble back into the door.
He doesn’t just kiss me. Heclaimsme.
I fist my hands in the front of his T-shirt to stay upright. His free hand slides into my hair, tilting my head, fingers tangling like he can’t get enough. I make a noise, a half growl, half whimper, and he answers it with a low, raw sound that wrecks me even more.
I’m not breathing. I’m surviving.
On him.
On this.
His teeth scrape my bottom lip, and when I gasp, he drags his mouth down the column of my throat, hot and desperate.
“Tell me to stop,” he mutters against my skin, voice wrecked. “Please,tell me to stop.”
I could.
I should.
But I don’t.
I tip my head back, giving him everything instead.
I was supposed to protect my heart. Instead, I handed it to him and dared him to break it.
His lips crush mine again, his hands moving from my hair to my waist, fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks. I should care about that. I don’t. He walks me backward until my shoulders hit the wall beside my desk. Books rattle on the shelf above us, but I barely register the sound. All I can focus on is him pressed against me, his chest expanding with each ragged breath, his heartbeat thundering beneath my palms.
I’m drowning in him, in this reckless, raw mess we’ve created.
“Jade.” He breathes like he’s already forgetting why he shouldn’t be saying my name. It’s almost as if he needs to hear it between us.
His mouth finds mine again as he slips his hand under the hem of my tee. His touch burns a path across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I arch into him, greedy for more. More contact, more pressure, more everything. My body moves on instinct. I tilt my chin up, stretching to match his height, my hands traveling from his chest to his shoulders to the nape of his neck.
He finally wrenches himself away, dragging in a breath that sounds more like a growl. Like it physically hurts him to stop.
He doesn’t go far.
He just presses his forehead into mine, hard enough that it feels like he’s trying to hold himself together with the only thing that still makes sense—me.
His breath shudders out against my mouth, and for one brutal second, he almost kisses me again, like he needs it more than air.
His hands are still tangled in my hair. Mine are still knotted in the fabric of his wet shirt, fists clenching like I can anchor myself to him if I just hold tight enough.
The rain drums harder against the windows, a furious rhythm that paces the need coiling tight in my gut.
For a moment, we just breathe. Heavy. Broken. Like everything that’s been dammed up between us finally cracked wide open.
His nose brushes mine, slow and shaky, like he forgot he’s supposed to let go.
“I wasn’t supposed to do that.” His voice is pained, but he’s anything but sorry.
