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He wants me. The realization makes me shiver, and my body thrums with need. Taking off my top, he moves me so I’m lying with my back on the couch. I inhale sharply as his knuckles graze over my breasts through the thin fabric of my bra.
“Ian,” I moan, as he trails kisses along my neck.
In one swift move, he unclasps my bra. I gasp as he touches my bare skin. His tongue teases round my areola as his fingers move further. He places a kiss above my belly button, before moving upward. The feel of his hands on my skin make me hot and cold at the same time. I writhe beneath him, taking in shallow breaths. His warm breath caresses my breast.
“You want this?” he says huskily.
“Y-yes,” I say without thinking, wrapping my arms around his neck.
Ending the sweet torture, his lips touch my skin. I shiver, stifling a moan.
“Ian –”
My phone rings.
I jump, and the fog in my head clears. Shoving down my top, I rummage in my bag for my phone. Elena’s voice rings in my ear.
“Have you given the book to Dylan?”
I blink. “Err, yes. Yes, I have.”
“Okay. Thank you. Talk to you later.”
I stare at the phone for several second after the call ends, forcing air into my lungs. My cheeks flame. I was just making out with Ian. What was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking at all. Shutting my eyes, I inhale deeply and turn to him. He’s on his feet, fully dressed, looking at me like he’s just realized what happened to us. We stare at each other for a while.
“We shouldn’t —”
“I’m sorry—”
He nods and takes a step back. “I’ll go.”
“Okay.”
After he leaves, I lean against the door and sink to the floor, shame washing over me. How could I have acted so impulsively? Another moment, and I’d have welcomed him in.
“It’s the alcohol,” I mumble, leaning my head against the door. “It won’t happen again.”
Chapter Four: Ian
“I’m sure your mom will be glad to see you.”
Kaylee’s words reverberate in my head as I sit in my car outside Mom’s house, staring at her door. It’s been three days since my arrival. Three days avoiding the one person I should’ve been all too eager to see. The door opens. I sit up. Platinum blonde hair packed in a ponytail comes into view, followed by the rest of her. Yellow tracksuit, white running shoes: some things never change. For as long as I remember, she’s always gone on a run every evening by six pm. She’s never missed a day – not even the day dad died. That day, she ran for hours before returning to the house with tear-streaked face at nine thirty pm, her face pale and tear-streaked. Her hands were cold as she touched my face. She looked into my eyes and said,
“We’ll pull through together.” And we did. Until we didn’t.
Melissa, I like to call her by her first name sometimes, stretches her arms, turning her neck this way and that. She jogs on the porch for a few seconds, before jogging down the stairs.
I should go.
Yet, I make no move to leave the car. She waves at an elderly woman across the street, her face lit up with a smile. She turns her head, and stares straight at me.
I suck in a breath. Here goes. Removing my seatbelt, I step out of the car. She just stands there, looking at me with wide eyes. I didn’t tell her I was coming home.
“Ian.” Her voice is tiny and soft. “You’re back.”
I stop a few feet in front of her. “Yes.”
