Page 108 of The Revenge Game
Justin studies me for so long I wonder if he’s falling back asleep with his eyes still open before he finally speaks. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but it really feels like your skills are wasted as a help desk technician.”
I lean away from my laptop, my heart pounding.
“I had a more intense job in the States,” I say cautiously. “But…it wasn’t exactly healthy for me. I got too engrossed in my work to the point where I forgot what life was like outside my office.”
“What do you mean?” Justin shifts closer, his knee brushing mine.
“I was working eighty-hour weeks, sleeping at the office. Leo used to joke that I was in a committed relationship with my laptop.” I huff a laugh, but it’s not exactly funny.
“That sounds intense,” Justin says.
“I basically stopped existing outside of work,” I say. “Everything became about the next deadline, the next milestone.”
“It must have been lonely.”
A lump rises in my throat. Because it was lonely. I was dreadfully, painfully lonely.
“It was. But I didn’t realize how lonely until I stopped. It’s like… You know when you’ve been wearing headphones for so long you forget what silence sounds like?”
“Until you take them off, and suddenly everything sounds different?”
“Exactly. Coming here was like taking the headphones off. And now I’m trying to work out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
“Is working at DTL Enterprises helping you with that?”
I stare back at him. At NovaCore, I knew exactly who I was supposed to be. But at DTL Enterprises, pretending to be someone else while fixing printers and trading jokes over morning tea, I’ve somehow stumbled into feeling more like myself than ever before. “Sometimes I feel like it’s helping me… And sometimes it feels like it’s confusing me more.”
Justin shifts on the couch, angling his body toward mine. His fingers find the hem of my T-shirt, playing with it absently.
The sleepiness has faded from his expression, replaced by intent.
“What’s that look for?” I try to sound stern, but I’m fairly sure the playfulness in my voice undoes it.
“I’m trying to figure out how to lure you back to bed.” He nuzzles into my neck, placing his lips on the skin beneath my ear.
“I’m sure you can come up with a way,” I gasp, and he laughs against my skin.
He places another butterfly kiss on my neck, then slowly moves his lips up to trace a path along my jawline.
When he reaches the corner of my mouth, he pauses just long enough to make me ache for more, his breath warm against my lips.
And then we’re kissing, slow, drugged kisses that are so familiar now.
I don’t understand how kissing Justin can feel like muscle memory and revelation wrapped into one, my body knowing exactly what to do while my mind still marvels at each touch.
He pulls me onto his lap, tugging my T-shirt over my head between kisses.
When our bare chests press together, he makes this sound against my mouth that I want to record and play on a loop forever.
At least I seem to be nailing my “make Justin comfortable with his sexuality” mission.
Every intimate exchange between us has helped me forgive Past Justin. Having him want me so bad, dig his fingers into my skin like I’m something precious he can’t bear to let go of, has helped heal that wounded teenage part of me that thought I’d never be wanted like this.
Especially not by someone like Justin Morris.
Our kissing turns urgent, and we become too impatient to make it back to bed. I know Justin’s body so well now. I know how to make his breath hitch. I know how to make him whimper by brushing my lips behind his ear. I know how to trail my fingers down his spine to draw out the breathy gasps I want to catalog and keep forever.
I know how to make him come apart with my name on his lips.
