Page 57 of The Sound of Forever
I turn my head, and there she is. Curled on her side, her hair a dark wave of silk against the pillow: her lips are slightly parted; her breathing soft and rhythmic; her body relaxed in sleep. The sight of her stirs something deep in my chest—a mix of awe and something terrifyingly close to hope.
We’ve slept in the same room before—those nights at the hospital, while Rayne was sick. But this? Waking up here, in her home, in her bed? It’s different. It’s intimate. It’s . . . us.
Us, fuck, is that what’s happening?
SayingI love youwasn’t scary, but I’m afraid I’ll fuck up just like I’ve done in the past. I’m sure my therapist will have a field day with me when we talk about this.
Last night, we fell asleep tangled in each other, her body pressed to mine, her warmth grounding me in a way I didn’t think possible. We didn’t have sex—not entirely. There were other things, things that left my body humming with satisfaction, but I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want her, but because being inside her felt monumental like crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.
Also, I didn’t have condoms with me. How pathetic is it thata man my age doesn’t carry condoms? In my defense I haven’t had sex in a very long time.
Beside the lack of prophylactics, I don’t regret holding back. Not when she looks like this—peaceful, glowing, her bare shoulder peeking out from beneath the sheet. Her skin catches the light, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and trace the curve of it with my fingertips and mouth.
She stirs, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks before her eyes slowly open. For a moment, she just looks at me, her gaze soft, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.
“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice husky, laced with the remnants of sleep.
“Morning, beautiful,” I reply, my voice low, rough for the morning. My eyes drift lower, and it hits me again—she’s naked beneath the sheets, just like me. The fabric barely clings to her curves, teasing me, and my body reacts instantly, heat pooling low in my stomach.
She stretches lazily, the sheet slipping down her chest, exposing more of her skin. My pulse quickens, and I know she notices because her smile turns playful, her eyes glinting with mischief.
“You’re staring,” she teases, her voice soft but full of amusement.
“Can you blame me?” I counter, my hand reaching out on instinct, my fingertips brushing the delicate line of her collarbone. Her skin is warm, inviting, and I let my touch linger, tracing the curve of her shoulder.
Her gaze holds mine, and for a moment, the playful spark fades, replaced by something deeper. “Last night,” she begins, her tone uncertain.
“Was perfect,” I interrupt, my hand slipping down to cup her cheek. “You were perfect.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she leans into my touch, her lips brushing against my palm in a way that sends electricity racing through me.
“Keane,” she whispers, her voice soft, but there’s a need in it that matches my own.
I lean in, my lips capturing hers in a kiss that’s both gentle and demanding, pouring every unspoken word into it. She melts against me, her body pressing closer, and any hesitation I felt earlier disappears.
This moment, this connection—it’s ours, and I’m done holding back.
Her kiss deepens, and her fingers skim over my chest, igniting a trail of heat wherever she touches. The hesitation in her movements is gone, replaced by a certainty that leaves me breathless. She shifts, pressing her body closer, her leg sliding over mine until she’s straddling me, her warmth sinking into my skin.
“Julie,” I murmur, my hands gripping her hips, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. “What are you doing?”
She leans down, her lips brushing against my jaw before trailing to my neck. “What I should’ve done last night,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin. Her hands slide lower, tracing the lines of my abdomen until she’s touching me, her fingers wrapping around my length with a confidence that sends a shudder through me.
I groan, my head falling back against the pillow as she strokes me, slow and deliberate. Every movement is a tease, a promise, and it’s driving me insane. My hands tighten on her hips, torn between letting her lead and taking control.
“Julie,” I manage, my voice raw, “I want you. But?—”
She silences me with a kiss, her lips capturing mine in a way that steals my breath. When she pulls back, her eyes lock with mine, filled with a fire that leaves no room for doubt.
“I want you too,” she says, her voice soft but sure. “I need you, Keane.”
My resolve wavers, and when she leans over to open the nightstand drawer, I’m completely undone. She pulls out a small foil packet, holding it up with a knowing smile. “You’re not getting away this time.”
I laugh, low and rough, my hands sliding up her thighs as she tears the packet open. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She moves with purpose, rolling the condom onto me with practiced ease. The sight of her, so focused, so in control, is enough to make my pulse race. When she meets my gaze again, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly swollen, I can’t resist pulling her back down to me, kissing her deeply.
Her body presses against mine as she shifts, positioning herself over me. My hands find her hips, holding her steady as she sinks down, taking me inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, the heat of her surrounding me, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to keep from losing it.
