Page 129 of Tell Me When It's Over

I think I hear a muffled “Jesus Christ” against my skin, but I’m too consumed in the hot air coming from his mouth that caresses my damp skin from what we’ve been doing. He groans when I arch my hips up to meet his again, trying to get the friction back to get myself off.

I’d say whatever I have to if it means getting back the feeling I was lost in, even if it makes me sound needy and desperate. With Kyler, right here in his bed, I’m both of those things. And maybe tomorrow when the sun is officially up, I’ll feel horrible for not caring, for wanting, but there’s little involving Kyler Bishop I’ve ever felt guilty about.

Not knowing who he once was to me.

Not knowing who he’s become to me.

Not when it feels like this.

Warm. Inviting. Right.

Home. For once, under Kyler, blanketed by his warmth and his choppy breathing full of lust and need, I feel at home.

“Please,” I say again, breathing in his calming scent and waiting, waiting, waiting for his resolve.

Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait long.

He drops his body back onto mine, his weight coming down as one of his hands finds the back of my head, gripping my skull and tangling his fingers into my hair, as the other trails down my side until it hooks one of my legs around his waist.

And then, finally, he moves.

The sharp exhale as his thickness rolls into me can’t be stopped as I bury my face back into the crook of his neck like his is in mine. Except he’s trailing kisses along my throat, murmuring things I can’t quite understand and reveling in the way it feels when I meet his hips by means of groans and grunts.

My tongue dips out and licks his salty skin, and the answering choke rising from his throat has him grinding a little harder, a little faster, until he stops again. I think he’s about to stop completely, to talk himself out of this, when a hand lowers between us and he peels back with a question in his eyes. I’m not sure how I know what he’s asking, but I find myself nodding until his fingers are dancing along the hem of my shorts and dipping under the waistband until they brush against my skin. There.

Eyes fluttering closed as he touches the seam of my lips, I bite down onto my bottom lip to suppress the noises caused by his featherlight touch until a pad of his finger pushes down on my clit. It feels…better than I ever remember. Better than when I do it, and better than any of the dreams—and there have been many—could have conjured even in my wildest imagination.

Kyler rubs the worked up nerves in slow circles, grinding his hips forward, his erection pressing against the opening of my clothed entrance until my body heats with an anticipation for more.

Moving my arms from around his neck, I run my fingernails down his back with one hand while the other cups his cheek. I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly our mouths are aligned and I can taste his breath, still slightly minty from his toothpaste, before we close the distance. The kiss starts out soft, lingering, not willing to explore more than it needs to as his finger works my clit in the same torturous rhythm.

Then my other leg wraps around his hip until my ankles latch behind his back, arching for his fingers to move faster. My tongue darts out to flick along his bottom lip, then his top, until a moan catches in the back of his throat and suddenly our tongues are touching for the first time. Something inside of me clicks into place as we explore each other’s mouths, our tastes, as his finger trails down to my entrance and slowly sinks into the heated wetness. Feet digging into his lower back at the tight intrusion, he hushes me with another kiss, deepening it, sucking my tongue, nipping, coaxing me to relax and let him make me feel good.

His “that’s it, honey” and “so wet” and “feel so good” has my jaw quivering and my legs shaking, and it isn’t until his thumb presses against me again as he begins working a single finger in and out of me when I feel it happening. The way I tighten around him and my stomach clenches, and my breathing hitches.

It feels like too much and not enough all at the same time, and he quickens his pace inside of me, applying more pressure, thrusting his hips against me until I bite hard into his bottom lip. The sound of his finger sliding in and out of me, the arousal, the need settled between my thighs, has me crying out, “Kyler!” as my body explodes around him.

He curses. His hips jerk against me in a sporadic way until he tenses and drops his head back into my neck, kissing the spot above my pulse as I try catching my breath. I make a strangled noise when his finger leaves me, and his breathing is hard against my th

roat and the pillow where his forehead lays.

We don’t say a word for a long time.

Kyler doesn’t move off me.

I wrap my hands around his neck, hugging him, holding him to me for I don’t know how long.

Eventually, he moves onto his side, pulling me with him until we’re spooning. One of his hands is flat against my stomach, the other under my head, which I use as an extra pillow, and holds my hand.

I’m not sure what time it is, or how long we lay like that, neither of us sleeping, when he says, “Lenny…” It’s the tone of his voice that has me tensing, and I could let him say what he needs to say, but I don’t want to.

Turning around, the first thing I see is the way his hooded eyes are looking at me. The second thing I see is the white, wet beads on his dark shirt. And when he figures out what I’m staring at, he closes his eyes.

I don’t know what I expect him to say, but my inexperience pairs with my anxiety, and I worry he’ll say he regrets this, that he doesn’t want to keep sleeping in the same bed, or holding my hand, or sharing any of my other firsts, but instead he wraps his arms around me, kisses the top of my head, and murmurs, “Get some sleep.”

And I’m not sure if it’s the softness in his words or the way his arms tighten around me even more that silently promises he’s not going anywhere, but eventually I do drift off.

Chapter Thirty-Five

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