Page 83 of The Love You Fight For
She wraps her legs around my waist, threads her fingers into my hair, and kisses me deeply. Every inch of her is wrapped tightly around me. There’s not a single part of our bodies that’s not touching in some intimate way, and I’m reveling in it. In the connection and lack of space between us. Her skin hot against mine. Her breath on my neck. Her mouth on my mouth. I can feel her heart pounding in her chest from how it’s pressed against mine. Our hearts thrum together, and I want to keep her here. Every heartbeat repeats it.
Keep her, keep her, keep her.
“I understand why this is your favorite now,” she says against my lips.
I smile.
“Yeah? Why’s that.”
She tightens her hold on me and meets my slow thrusts, and what I see in her eyes makes my heart race faster. I know she can feel it.
“I like kissing you while you’re inside me,” she whispers finally, so I kiss her.
I kiss her slow and deep, so our kisses match our sex, until I’m certain we’re not just fucking anymore. She asks me not to pull out, and when I come inside her, I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying what’s at the forefront of my mind.
I love you.
I love you.
I am in love with you.
TWENTY-ONE
I’m getting toocomfortable waking up naked and wrapped around Chris Casper.
I know this, but right now, I can’t bring myself to care.
Instead, I hold him tighter and snuggle further into him, wishing I could melt and be absorbed by him, so I cease to exist without him. The idea of never having to be alone again is intoxicating. The idea of always being with this man? It’s too good to be true.
When my phone alarm goes off at five thirty, I hit snooze quickly, but Chris wakes up anyway.
“Why are you getting up this early?” he rumbles into my hair.
I kiss his chest before speaking.
“I have to go back to D.C. today.” I try to hide the sadness in my tone. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
He starts dragging his fingers up and down my side, the touch so soft and gentle that it makes my heart ache. I don’t want to leave this bed.
“It’s Saturday,” he says. “You drove down even though you had to head back in twelve hours?”
I laugh, a little embarrassed, and nod.
“I just needed to get out of D.C. for abit,” I whisper.
My voice cracks, but he doesn’t comment on it. He just wraps his arms around me and holds me tighter against his chest.
Memories of last night flash through my mind, and I swallow back the shame I want to feel. It doesn’t matter that I trust Chris fully. It doesn’t matter that he coaxed it out of me, that I felt safe enough with him to be honest. The idea of being vulnerable with a man fills me with immediate anxiety on instinct, and it’s a trauma response I unfortunately can’t unlearn overnight.
It’s one that I probably will still need to rely on for a little while longer.
“Do you have to go back?” he asks hesitantly. “Is it that important?”
I clamp my eyes shut and breathe.
“Yes. Yes, I have to go back.”
We fall back into silence, but he doesn’t release me. I keep my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady, just like him. I will my heart to follow suit, to mirror his, so that I can draw from his strength. Mine feels depleted.
