Page 37 of Stitch
“Is that all you care about? Getting your damn end away?”
Stitch frowned, and looked around him.
“I feel like someone changed the rules here, and forgot to tell me. What’s going on exactly? Normally a single shouted word, and a brief flash of temper isn’t enough to send a woman catatonic, so I’m guessing there’s something bad in your past, and I triggered a reaction. I’m fucking sorry, and I promise it won’t happen again, girl. So can we talk about that now? Instead of whatever the hell this is?”
“It’s my business, Stitch, but I’m sorry it happened.”
His face fell, and he stepped back from me.
“You regret it? I don’t. I relish every fucking moment we spent together, every second of our intimacy, the talking, the kissing, the sex. All of it. I can’t regret it, and I won’t.”
And then again came the thing we both realised at some point before, and forgot about with all the drama after.
“I have a birth control implant, Stitch, but bareback sex is something people should discuss first. We didn’t, but we should have.”
He looked relieved, and didn’t that just wind me up even more.
“Yeah, don’t worry, you didn’t fucking fertilise me.”
“It was good, Camille, it was so fucking good. We were. I don’t understand what happened after that, but I want to fix it. We were making plans, and I want them, with you. I want to spend every fucking moment I have left with you.”
Oh god, he was back to thinking about death, and that thought sent a ripple of shock through me. If he had limited time, why the hell were we wasting it arguing?
“Promise you won’t yell again, or throw things.”
He lifted his hands. “It’s not my thing, girl, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, and Ipromise I won’t do it again. Can I hold you now? Kinda need to feel you in my arms.”
I nodded and he didn’t waste any time, hauling me tight against him, his arms folding around my back to squeeze me slightly. I slid my arms around his neck, and pressed my face into his throat. I could feel his heart racing, and knew mine was doing the same.
“I want to do the bucket list thing, girl, and I want to do that with you. Will you still help me with that? I have no right to ask, but I really don’t want it unless you’re with me.”
I nodded, without moving away from his neck, instead breathing in his smell, which was a mixture of a leathery sort of smell maybe from his cut, and the faint lingering scent of whatever he’d used, a cologne, or shampoo or something.
He stroked my back gently, his shoulders relaxing the longer we held each other.
“I never want to see you afraid like that again, girl. Do you trust me enough to tell me what other triggers you might have?”
I shook my head, brushing my lips against the warm skin of his throat. I felt rather than heard the low groan he uttered in response.
“Camille, dammit, woman.”
It felt so right to be in his arms, and the earlier panic seemed so bizarre to me now, like it hadn’t really happened, like it hadn’t been real and terrifying at the time.
I lifted my head, and stared into his bright blue eyes, and fell a little deeper into whatever the hell these feelings were. We moved at the same time, our lips crashing together, and tongues surging against each other’s.
“Jesus Christ. Do we still have to stay here?”
“I don’t want to leave her. She was in a real state before, Ice.”
“Well, this isn’t a fucking peepshow, you two. Let’s leave them in peace. If Cammy needs us, all she needs to do is yell.”
We ignored everyone as we kept kissing, and then Stitch winced, and pulled back.
“You okay?”
“Having a raging boner isn’t feeling great for me right now.”
He grinned at me, and I found myself smiling back.
