Page 75 of After All This Time

The water runs for a moment before shutting off, and a few minutes later, she strolls out wearing an oversized T-shirt that looks like it's been to hell and back. Faded Mickey Mouse stares back at me from her chest, the fabric stretched just enough to remind me of everything underneath it. And then there's the shorts—tiny, soft-looking, and riding high on her legs like they're tempting me to act on these urges.

The lights click off, and the room plunges into darkness. However, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminates her enough that I can still make out her silhouette—the curve of her legs, the line of her jaw, the way her hair tumbles over her shoulders—she's a goddamn dream.

She slides into bed with the ease of someone who has no idea what she's doing to me, and it's torture.

Sweet, agonizing torture.

"Tobias?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not going to pretend either." I turn onto my side, propping my head on my arm. "How long have we known each other now?"

"I don't know, Mills. Nearly ten years."

She lets out a soft hum, her fingers brushing over the edge of the blanket. "You know, in that time, you became my one constant. I know I haven't seen you much since you moved to Chicago, but you've always just been there, you know?"

"Yeah," I whisper. "I know."

Her eyes search mine, even in the shadows. "Can I ask you a question without you being an ass about it?"

"I'll try," I say, trying to lighten the mood, though the tone in her voice makes it impossible to joke.

"I'm serious," she insists, and I nod.

"Ask me what you want to know."

"Could you live a life without me in it?" The question slams into me and steals my breath. Of all the things she could have asked, I wasn't expecting that. "Because I think it might destroy me if I lost you, and I don't want to risk the one relationship I feel completely comfortable in for the sake of a physical attraction."

Losing Amelia isn't an option—it never has been.

"I'm sorry. You're right," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "But you think I'm hot?"

"You know you're hot."

Her laugh breaks some of the tension, and when I reach out, it's instinctive. My fingers brush her hair back, tucking the strands behind her ear. I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling away and rolling onto my back again, staring at the ceiling.

"I couldn't," I say quietly, my voice breaking the stillness.

"Couldn't what?"

"Live my life without you in it."

We don't say anything else to each other, and even though I'm lying here hard as a rock, desperate to touch her, desperate to do everything I shouldn't even consider doing to her, I remain silent.

The risk of losing Amelia should be enough to keep me in line. But it's not. Because no matter how hard I try, I want her. I want her hands on me. I want her skin against mine. I want to give in to the ache that's been building in me for far too long. But instead, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, pretending I'm fine.

I turn toward her, the mattress creaking slightly beneath me. My phone unlocks with a swipe, just bright enough to let me see her. She looks relaxed and peaceful, her long, dark lashes resting against her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, looking soft,inviting, and so fucking tempting while her hands rest beneath the pillow as if she's curling into herself.

My hand moves before I realize it, my thumb brushing against her cheek with the gentlest touch. I freeze, holding my breath, praying she doesn't wake. But the pull is stronger than any restraint I've ever known. My thumb drags lower, tracing the curve of her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, while my heart pounds in my chest.

If her eyes opened now, I'd be done for. Not just because she'd probably slap the shit out of me but because I'd see the betrayal in them. And I never want her to feel uncomfortable or unsafe with me.

But I stay there, my lips hovering just above hers, so close it feels like I've crossed a line even though I haven't touched her.

I won't kiss her. I'd never take that from her. Not like this. Not without her choosing me back. But this closeness is enough to obliterate any delusion I've had about what I feel for her.

This isn't just my dick reacting to her. This isn't lust. It's obsession. It's longing. It's everything I can't afford to feel for her, and it's ruining me. My body wants her, but so does every part of me that should know better.

---