Page 79 of Fight Or Flight

The locket falls from his fingers and I watch intently as he gently repositions it so it lays flat over the swell of my chest. Biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes find mine as his fingertips trace the neckline of my tank top.

“Is it wrong to say I keep recalling that night?” he questions hoarsely. “That I wish we could go back in time and never leave the back seat of that car?”

I’ve asked myself the very same question every night since she passed. I don’t have the answers, I can only tell him what I think my mom would say—that it isn’t wrong. I can actually picture her rolling her eyes at me.

He lifts his thumb and gently traces my lips.

“I’m sorry it ended the way it did, Brooklyn,” he rasps.

“Me too,” I murmur. “Until we got home, it was the best night of my life.”

He cocks his head to the side and drops his fingers to my shoulder, toying with the thin strap of my tank top.

“You ever think that it was the best day because you had nothing better to compare it to?”

I honestly never thought of it like that, but it makes sense.

“That’s the great thing about life, we get to keep trying. Every day we wake up is another chance to make something better,” he adds, as he pushes the strap down, exposing my shoulder. He brings his eyes back to mine, flashing me a serene smile. “We’ll have a lot of nights to measure up to that one, starting now.”

Bowing his head, he slants his mouth over mine. My eyes flutter shut and my arms wind around his neck as a soft moan passes from his lips to mine. One kiss and he breathes life into me just like he did that night on the beach. I wonder if it’s the same for him. Does he question how life existed before us? Does he ask himself how he ever walked this earth for seventeen years without knowing the other half of his soul existed in someone else? Does he thank God for aligning our paths and does he feel guilty about it afterwards because he isn’t sure we’d be here, in each other’s arms, if it weren’t for sacrifice and death.

His hands move to cradle my face as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue boldly over mine, flicking, tasting, and exploring. I don’t know how it happens, but somehow the reacquainting of our mouths takes a desperate turn and we kiss like we’re two starved animals—or rather the two horny teenagers that we are.

One of his hands leaves my face and slides down the side of neck, landing on my shoulder. He pulls the other strap of my tank down and his hungry mouth follows the path of his hand, sucking the sensitive skin of my neck. He lifts his head. His eyes—blazing with need—meet mine and he slowly tugs the straps even further down my arms, peeling the thin cotton away, exposing my breasts.

An animalistic growl sounds from the back of his throat, but he keeps his focus on my face. A look of appreciation radiates from his eyes as he gently outlines the circle of my breast. I draw in a deep breath and struggle to keep my eyes open and on him as he presses harder. A slow burn builds in my belly and I moan at the foreign sensation. His gaze never wanders as his fingers find my nipple, pinching and pulling on the tiny bud.

My hips buck and I lose the battle with my eyes. They flutter close and a breathy moan slips from my mouth. He finally breaks and bends his head, taking my nipple between his teeth. His tongue flicks over it and I gasp. Not from pain or discomfort, but because I’ve never felt anything so glorious. Every nerve feels like a live wire, and my body craves more—it craves the unknown.

“Eric,” I murmur, pushing my fingers through his hair. He laps at my other breast, sucking and teasing the nipple. Embarrassment floods me as wetness pools between my legs. “Eric,” I repeat, his name a plea.

His mouth stills around my nipple and he lifts his eyes. I remind myself my body is just doing what nature has intended and I focus on his handsome face.

“No, don’t stop,” I beg, fisting the ends of his hair. His eyebrows knit together for a second, but then awareness flickers in those blue eyes.

It’s like he can read everything my body is begging me to recognize.

Every want.

Every plea.

Every ounce of pleasure.

His mouth goes back to work, and he moves his hand between my legs. A gasp erupts from the back of my throat as his fingers dig into my thigh, slowly trailing higher and higher. That sensation in my belly grows deeper and the most intimate part of my body throbs with need.

My mind might not know how to guide me, but my body knows what it wants and takes charge. My hips rise and his hand slides inside my shorts. I hold my breath, the anticipation of his touch is consuming and when his fingers skirt over my panties, my legs fall even further apart, welcoming him to take.

To claim.

To explore.

To teach.

He releases my nipple, and a groan vibrates from his lips.

“Fuck, Brook,” he moans, stroking my slit through the cotton barrier. “Your panties are soaked.” My cheeks flush as he raises his head from my chest. “Have you…are…” His voice fades and he blows out a ragged breath, closing his eyes as he slides his fingers under the cotton. The bare touch of his fingers against my flesh sends my senses into overdrive and I rock against his hand.

“Christ,” he hisses.

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