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This is so frigging sad. “They wanted to be like you.”
“And look where that got them.”
“That wasn’t your fault. You were doing it for them. To help them. You couldn’t foresee what they’d do.”
He only draws another long breath. It’s not too steady. His eyes look wet.
I can imagine the girl’s parents accusing him of being a bad example in their grief, even his brother, but the others? What a bunch of losers, putting this burden on him after he spent his childhood shouldering their responsibilities.
“You were a kid, too, Ocean. You did all you could. Nobody should blame you for this.”
He lifts his gaze, and there it is again, that flash of hope. “Christ, you mean it, don’t you?” He nuzzles my neck, his breath warm.
“You bet I do. I told you. I know you. You’re a good guy. Everyone knows it but you. Now…”
I need to distract him from these sad thoughts, distract myself until it all sinks in. Until he realizes for good that what kept him back so far wasn’t on him. That despite thinking it would push me away, that I’d blame him along with everyone else, he came clean. He told me everything.
I slide my hands down his chest, reach the hem of his sweater and T-shirt and tug on it. He steps back, lets me lift the two garments and then pulls them over his head and throws them to the floor.
Holy cow, I wonder if seeing his bare chest will ever get old. There are bruises, sure, dark and awful, but the black ink of his intricate tattoos, the rippling muscles, the washboard stomach, the delicious V of muscle at his hipbones, the light trail of dark hairs leading from his navel into his jeans…
So sexy.
He makes a soft noise, and I look up to find a faint smirk on his face. “Like what you see?”
“Is this another test?” I whisper. “Ocean, I—”
He presses a finger to my lips, silencing me. He then unzips his jeans and pushes everything down and off, toeing off his boots and socks.
“No more tests,” he says.
Oh my God. He’s standing totally naked in front of me, his hard-on pointing at me, while I’m still fully dressed, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve seen. It’s also the sweetest, somehow, like he’s trying to tell me something.
Like he’s done with barriers and masks. As he lifts his arms to the sides and dips his head, he’s offering me the whole of him.
“I love you,” I whisper.
No need for the cards to tell me who he is, no palm reading required. I know him. I need him. I don’t believe in love, but my senses tell me it’s real when it comes to him.
He looks up, his eyes widening, his lips parting. Not sure what he expected, but apparently it wasn’t this.
Then he guides me down on the sofa and climbs on top of me, placing his muscular thighs on either side of me. “I love you more,” he whispers back.
Chapter Twenty
Ocean
Laid out on my sofa, she’s so hot she burns. She’s wearing a purple dress with an uneven hem and a cloth flower on one shoulder. It molds perfectly to every lush curve, and it has to go before my dick explodes all over it. I roll the clingy fabric up her long legs, leaving them bare except for the shiny tights she’s wearing and her ankle-height black boots.
Through the sheer fabric of her tights I see her tiny panties. Black with pink lace.
Oh fuck.
I run my hands down her legs to her boots, and I tug them off, let them thump to the floor. Then I reach up and pull down her tights, pull on them so hard they start to rip.
And I don’t give a damn.
I tried to keep away. I truly fucking did. Tried to tell her everything. To cling to the memory of her warmth, her kindness, her hot body. But it turns out I can’t. The memory isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. I need her here, now. Always.
