Page 122 of Beyond the Lines
My pulse quickens painfully in my chest. Because I do know. And that’s what makes this so terrifying and wonderful all at once. “I know,” I whisper.
twenty-six
DECLAN
I crawlacross the couch toward Lea, letting my sketchbook slide to the floor with a soft thud. I’ve finished drawing her, and her drawing of me lies abandoned beside her, pencils scattered across the cushions like casualties of war. Our homework is done, and now it’s time for fun.
“I can’t focus anymore,” I murmur, hovering over her. “All I can think about is getting you naked and taking you right here on this couch.”
She laughs—a bright, surprised sound that illuminates something deep inside me—but the laugh dies in her throat when I drag my thumb across her lower lip. Her eyes darken instantly, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of green remains.
“Is that so?” she whispers.
“Mmhmm.” I lower my mouth to hers, kissing her deep and slow.
I’ve learned that’s the way she likes it, the kind of kiss that makes her melt against me. It’s just one of the ways I’ve cataloged her responses like I’m studying for an exam. Thebreathy sigh when I bite her earlobe. The flutter of her eyelashes when I tease her with light, feathery kisses. The way her fingers dig into my shoulders when I use my tongue.
It’s like the Lea Altman all-you-can-eat buffet, and I can’t get enough.
I press myself against her, letting her feel how hard I am already, and she makes a small, hungry sound against my lips. Her leggings are thin enough that I can feel the heat of her through the fabric, already damp where I’m grinding against her. And, damn it, there’s nothing that’s going to stop me.
“Dec,” she gasps, arching up.
“Yeah?” I drag my lips down her neck, tasting the salt on her skin.
Her breathing catches when I find the sensitive spot below her ear. “Bedroom?”
“Why?” I slip my hand under her oversized sweater. “I like you here.”
“Because your windows don’t have curtains.”
I glance at the large living room windows that face the street. It’s dark outside, which means anyone passing by would have a perfect view of what we’re doing. I’m not normally an exhibitionist, but the thought of someone glimpsing us—seeing but not quite seeing—sends a surprising jolt of heat through me.
“I don’t know.” I toy with the waistband of her leggings. “Could be fun.”
She swats my hand away, laughing. “Bedroom or nothing, Andrews.”
I sigh dramatically. “So demanding.”
Then I scoop her up in one fluid motion.
She squeals and grabs my shoulders. “What are you doing?”she asks.
“Following orders,” I say.
I deposit her on my bed, before crawling over her again. Her hair fans out across my pillow, dark curls a stark contrast against the white pillowcase. The sight hits me like a physical blow—she belongs here, in my bed, and in my life. The thought is so intense it momentarily takes my breath away.
“What?” she asks, reaching up to trace my expression with gentle fingers.
I try to shake it off with a smile. “Nothing. Just… this is perfect.”
Her cheeks flush, and she gives an exaggerated sigh. “You just want to get laid.”
“No.” I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I’m saying it because it’s true. When I look at you, I see all these lines I want to draw. These shapes and shadows I want to capture. I’ve filled like three sketchbooks just trying to get your mouth right, and it’s not even close to good enough.”
“My mouth?” She touches her lips self-consciously.
“Yeah.” I lean down, brushing my lips against hers, then kiss her again. Deeper this time, my tongue sliding against hers as I settle my weight more firmly between her legs. “The way it curves when you’re trying not to smile at one of my jokes. Or how you bite your lower lip when you’re concentrating on a drawing.”
