Page 100 of Chasing You

chapter forty-one

MILES

PRESENT

Marina giggles,fumbling with her keys outside the door to her apartment as I kiss her neck. I could barely keep my hands off her on the way here, my thumb stroking her hand where it sat on my thigh while I drove us from Hotel Dolce to here.

A tiny part of me feels bad for the girl I abandoned at the Hotel. If she pulls her money from the fundraiser, I’ll pay Caio back, but there was no way I was doing anything other than staying in that elevator.

“Hurry up, princess,” I mutter against her throat. I can feel her heart beating at a rapid pace when I press a kiss to the base of her neck. Mine is beating in synchronicity.

The thought of being together like this after so long has my gut swirling with a mix of emotions I can barely decipher, but one is more potent than all of the others: need.

She squeaks a noise as she finds the right key, sliding it into the keyhole and pushing open the door. I kick it shut behind me just as Marina steps out of my grasp.

She throws her keys on the small kitchen island before turningaround, her eyes suddenly losing their spark of certainty. “Should we talk about this?”

“We can do whatever you want,” I say. She just nods, her eyes darting around the room.

“We don’t have to do anything, Marina. If you want to just sit on the couch and watch a movie, we can do that too, just let me know so I can communicate that to the rest of my body,” I breathe.

Her ears lift as the corners of her mouth turn up. But barely a moment later, her brows pull together and the look in her eye softens. “I think I want to,” she breathes, a tear slipping down her cheek.

I just rub my thumb along her cheekbone, looking into my favorite set of glassy eyes as I watch her deliberate this. I can’t blame her. The elevator was hot, but it was the first time she’s been impulsive with me, and I don't want to rush this if she’s not ready.

“This is real, isn’t it?” she whispers.

“This was always real, princess.”

She brings her lips to mine in a soft kiss, one that screams vulnerability and tastes of salt. I cradle her head in my hands, slowly tangling my fingers in her hair as she opens her mouth to me.

This is something different from what happened earlier tonight. That was desire and impulse. This is years worth of hurt and yearning, a throbbing ache to tear down the last of the walls standing between us so that we can finally stand together. It’s begging for forgiveness not with words, but with the soft touch of each other's skin.

Marina’s hands find my shirt, slowly tugging at the buttons, opening it at a pace that has me wanting to rip it off and do it back up at the same time. Stuck between wanting to savor this moment and wanting to get to the next one.

She pulls her puffy lips from mine, looking down at my chest as she finishes with the buttons. She slowly runs her palms up my torso, her fingers finding every dip and ridge in my body andexploring them. Her touch feels like a spark, lighting up every part of my body that she touches, leaving heat in her path.

She reaches my birthmark, the one I was always conscious of until she taught me to love it. She runs her finger around the shape, tracing it like a country on a map, or something she is remembering with a fondness.

Her hands find my shoulders, pushing the shirt down my arms. She helps me slide my left arm out first, before my right, being extra careful of the angle of my arm. “How does it feel?” she asks into my chest.

“I can’t even feel it right now.”

She just nods, looking back up at me, emotion clouding her hazel eyes before she pulls on the back of my neck, dragging my lips down to meet hers.

Her lips are so soft, so warm and inviting as she meets my tongue in my mouth. She kisses me with intent, our tongues performing a slow dance, tangling and tasting at an agonising pace.

Despite saying I couldn’t feel it, the angle of my neck pulls at the muscles connecting it with my shoulder. I grab Marina by the waist, sitting her on the island so she meets my height. Her eyes flare with desire as she looks at me. “Did I tell you how much I love the mustache?”

“It’s working for you?” I ask.

She pulls her lip between her teeth and nods. “It’s working.”

My fingers find the hem of her top, my knuckle grazing the warm skin of her belly. “Can I?”

“Yes,” she breathes.

I roll up the fabric, pulling it over her head and placing it on the counter beside her. My hand finds her waist. “Does this feel okay?”

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