Page 127 of Cadence
But she’s here, hand fisting my shirt, trembling in my arms. I kiss her like I’ve forgotten how much I need her, slow and deep and reverent. I don’t know who moves first, but we’re stepping inside, her bag falling to the floor, the door closing behind us with a quietsnick, shutting out everything that happened beforethis.
I don’t speak, don’t want to stop kissing her, touching her, being wrapped up in everything that is Paige Erikson. We need to talk; there’s no doubt about that. There’s too much between us not to, but words will only ruin this.
What we need now is softness, and it seems Paige agrees.
I pull away, breaking the kiss for a moment, needing to look at her. She’s soaked through, her clothes clinging to every curve, hair dripping down her cheeks. Her eyelashes are clumped together, the circles under her eyes matching mine. Yet she’s as beautiful as ever.
Bringing my mouth back to hers, she moves to the hem of my shirt, her cold hands sliding beneath it and up my chest. Goosebumps prickle under her touch as she continues upward, taking the fabric with her. We break apart again just enough to allow her to pull it over my head, dropping it to the floor.
Her gaze searches mine, those blue eyes that see way too much, seeme, waiting for my next move. I reach for the bottom of her tee, giving her a chance to stop me, but she doesn’t. Simply joins in.
I peel it off slowly, careful not to rush this. She raises her arms above her head, and I strip the soaked fabric away, her breath catching as shivers wrack her body.
Not from fear. From something different.
She lowers her arms, and I let my eyes roam over her, relearning her body with every inch of revealed skin. My hands shake as I slide one strap of her bra down her shoulder, placing an open-mouthed kiss there before trailing my lips along her collarbone to the other side, repeating the process.
Moving her hands behind her back, Paige unhooks her bra, letting the thin material fall to the floor. She looks up at me, eyes wide. I don’t wait, cupping her face in both palms and taking her lips with mine, needing to taste her once more, needing to feel the softness of her mouth against mine.
Call it sappy, call it pathetic, but there’s something about kissing her like this that’s breathing life back into my lungs.
She gasps, pressing into my chest, the feel of her ice-cold skin against the fire radiating from mine melting more than just walls between us.
I can’t take it anymore, and I bend down, wrapping my hands around her thighs and lifting her up, her legs winding around me instinctively. Wet leggings fill my palms, and I carry her up the stairs and into my bedroom. Lips teasing, noses brushing, sharing the same desperate air.
Gently, I lower her onto my bed, the sheets in a pool near the bottom, the pillows laying haphazardly near the top. Her back sinks into the mattress as I cup a hand to her head, guiding her down, my body hovering over hers, unable to take our eyes off each other, reading, searching, waiting.
The way she looks at me, like she’s choosing this, choosing me, almost breaks me.
I move toward her again, because how can I not? Her nails press into my shoulder as I kiss her again, slower than before. My hand brushes her cheek, sliding over her jaw, down her neck, continuing down the side of her body, listening to the way she breathes, feeling the way her fingers curl into my back, the scent of outside mixed with her body wash filling my lungs.
I can’t stop kissing her, licking into her mouth, tangling with her tongue, relishing what it’s like to have her under me again.
Tugging her leggings down her hips, I reluctantly pull myself away to ease her feet out of the last of her clothes, before tossing them to my bedroom floor. She’s trembling, and I press my forehead to hers.
“You okay?” I whisper.
I feel her nod against me, and that’s all I need to keep moving, ridding myself of my sweatpants and underwear, nestling between her legs. I move with her, not against her, every touch a question, every sigh from her lips an answer.
She rocks up, grinding me into her, her eyes fluttering as we drink each other in. Her hand slips between us, wrapping around my hard length, guiding me to where I ache to be.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
Again, she doesn’t speak, just nods, notching the head of my cock at her entrance, her eyes saying more than the words she whispers. “You. Just you.”
She pivots her hips slightly, mouth parting as I slowly push forward. And when I’m finally seated inside her, it’s not just sex. It’s something heavier, more meaningful.
A rejoining.
A remembering.
She clings to me like we’re making up for lost time, like this is the only place she wants to be. My hands find hers, lacing our fingers together, needing to connect to her everywhere. Her legs curl around my waist, pulling me deeper, her breath stuttering when I move in languid strokes.
She looks up at me, her eyes blown, like I’m the only thing that exists. And then, right when she arches beneath me, head tipping back, auburn hair spilling like sunrise across my pillows, I see it.
A single tear sliding down her cheek.
I freeze, just for a second, my stomach coiling with emotions I can’t quite place.
