Page 64 of Monochrome Without You
“Thank you for staying,” I whisper into the darkness. A beat passes before I add, softer, “You know… for Tate.”
Corbin shifts slightly, turning onto his side. The indelible urge to reach out and cup his cheek is almost too much to resist. But somehow, I resist.
“I’d do anything for him,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
I turn over, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“I would, too,” I say.
Silence stretches between us, thick and weighted. I don’t know why, but I scoot back. Just a little. Just enough to feel his body heat beneath the sheets.
Somehow, he notices.
His arm slides over my waist, steady and sure, and then he’s tugging me back against him. My back collides with the hard wall of his chest, and his fingers come to rest lightly against my rib cage.
My breath shudders.
This crosses so many boundaries. This is dangerous.Too dangerous.
But I don’t pull away.
I lean in.
Corbin’s lips brush the base of my neck, soft and chaste. A whisper of warmth that sends goosebumps scattering across my skin. My fingers twitch against the sheets, then reach behind me, searching, finding the solid muscle of his thigh. I trail my fingertips up, up, up, until they graze the soft fabric of his briefs.
At the same time, his hand moves, slipping under my pajama top. His palm splays against my stomach, warm and grounding. A slow, torturous ascent. His thumb brushes the underside of one breast, then the other, and I arch instinctively, pressing closer, needing more.
The shape of him—hard and heavy—nudges against me, sending a deep ache spiraling through my core.
“Corbin,” I mumble, my hand sliding lower, gripping the firm curve of his backside.
I want him.
Right now.
And he wants me.
His breath is hot against my skin, his fingers trailing higher, pushing the limits of restraint—
“Dad?” Tate’s voice drifts from across the hall.
Everything inside me freezes.
Corbin stills, his body taut for one agonizing second before he exhales and presses one final kiss—soft, lingering—to the sensitive spot behind my ear.
Then, without a word, he pulls away.
The warmth of him disappears, and the bed feels too big. Too cold.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, pressing a trembling hand against my racing heart.
That was close.
Too close.
I can’t do this with Corbin.
I’m supposed to be painting.
