He’s silent for a moment. I start to think he isn’t going to respond. But then… “Was it actually a mistake, or are you just sorry you fucking got caught, Crew? Would it have still been a mistake had I never shown up? Would you have even told me about it had I not witnessed it with my own goddamn eyes?”
“Wh-what? Of course, I would’ve told you.”
“See, I don’t think you would. You seem to keep a lot of shit to yourself lately. It’s like I don’t even fucking know you at all. You live this entire secret life, it seems. First, you overdosed on drugs last year, and I didn’t even know you did drugs at all. Your own best fucking friend had no clue. Next, I find out you’re bisexual and have even hooked up with guys… with fucking Kalen, and again, I had no fucking clue.”
He laughs before continuing, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Now, I find out you hooked up with that fucker again, more than once, and the only reason I know is because I cared enough to show up. So, no, I don’t think you would’ve told me had you not been caught, Crew. I think you’re really fucking good at keeping secrets that benefit you.”
Speaking is next to impossible as the never-ending river of tears continues. A choked sob escapes my throat as I bury my face in his lap, arms wrapped fiercely around his legs. “You’re wrong. Yes, I’ve kept some things from you, but it wasn’t to hurt you. You are the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to me, Anderson. The only thing that matters, and I won’t fucking survive losing you. I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do it.It hurts. It fucking hurts so bad. Don’t make me live without you…please.” The last word is nothing but a croaked whisper. A desperate fucking plea.
He’s stiff beneath me, refusing to touch me, as I do nothing but cry into his lap, begging him to forgive me, unable to stop the river of pain from flowing. I don’t know how long we sit there like that, but my body begins to feel heavy and exhausted, eyes burning as the tear ducts dry out. I just want this to be over. I fuck everything good up in my life, and it’s pathetic.
After what feels like an embarrassingly long time of me falling apart on my knees, with my face in his lap, unsure and shaky fingers rake through my hair, his simple touch bringing me comfort in an instant. “Crew, fuck.” His voice is raspy and thick with emotion. I don’t dare look at him, but it sounds like he may be crying too. His fingers continue to weave through my dark strands, his other hand rubbing soothing circles into my back, while I still hold on to his legs for dear life.
“I can’t, Anderson. I fucking can’t.”
“I know. Me either, okay. Just…fuck.Come here, please.”
I lift my head, seeing the sincerity in his tear-filled eyes, and climb onto his lap, burying my head in the crook of his neck. The warm, familiar scent of sandalwood fills my senses, and for the first time in three days, I feel like I can breathe. My lips press against his burning hot skin as tears continue to silently fall. His body trembles against mine, hands fisting my shirt at the sides, as I continue to cling to him. My face is wet, my nose is running, but I need to feel him all around me.
My lips leave a trail of salty kisses across his neck, along his stubbly jaw, until they land on his mouth. He doesn’t kiss me back at first, his bottom lip quivering as emotion falls from his own eyes. The grip on my shirt is so tight, like he doesn’t know whether he wants to push me away or hold me closer.
“Please,” I whimper against his lips. My body is shaking, and the falling tears are relentless.Kiss me back. Please. Let me know I haven’t lost you.“Please.” This time it’s said as a whisper, and it reaches him.
Any of his remaining restraint shatters as his firm, soft lips mold to mine. His right hand continues to fist my shirt while his left comes up, cupping the back of my head as his mouth parts, allowing me to enter. A noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh sounds from my throat as our tongues dance sensually together, massaging and caressing one another. Goosebumps erect over my entire body as my senses drown in him.
With me still in his lap, he stands, and my legs wrap around him as he crosses the room. Lying us down on the bed, he pulls back, staring straight into my soul before he reunites our lips in a devastatingly beautiful kiss.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anderson
I’m not entirely sure how we ended up here. Him underneath me, my lips ravishing his, my heart cracked open and bleeding for him.
When I left his house three days ago, I told myself I wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t let him back in so easily. Wouldn’t listen to his excuses. If I’m being fully honest with myself, though, letting him go was never an option. Seeing him break down at my feet, pour his fears out to me like that, hurt worse than the betrayal I felt the other day. And if I’m continuing to go with honesty, I can understand why he did what he did. Would I have done the same had the roles been reversed? No, probably not. But I also come from a family that has never made me question their love for me. He doesn’t have that. He questions everyone’s motives and has a deep-rooted fear of being left behind.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he felt kicked to the side when I asked him to leave the other day. It doesn’t excuse what he did or make it hurt any less, but I get it. Crew is lost, broken, and damaged. His self-worth is in the ground, and he truly feels undeserving of love. Knowing who his parents are, anyone with eyes could see why he feels this way, but knowing this doesn’t kill me any less to witness it. Who Crew was when we were kids isn’t who he is today.
He’s guarded and insecure, and to the outside world, he wears a mask. An impenetrable mask that he only takes off for me. Lately, though, I wonder if the mask ever fully comes off for me anymore. He has secrets. Closets full of skeletons. He thinks I don’t notice, but I do.
More than anything, I want to be the one to save him from himself. Show him how deserving of love he is. How worthy he is. How important he is.
Maybe that’s how we ended up here.
Right or wrong, this is where I want to be. Am I a glutton for punishment? A masochist? Probably.
But I can’t walk away. Crew Collins is unequivocally woven into my soul. He has seeped into my bones, tethered himself to my heart, and ridding myself of him would be the end of me. He says he wouldn’t survive without me, but it’s me who wouldn’t survive.
So as my tongue tastes him, as I inhale his spicy, masculine scent, and as my body caresses his, I seal my fate. There’s no going back. No moving on. No looking the other way. He is mine, and I am his.
Crew pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling and sucking as his warm hands slide under my sweatshirt. His touch is an electric shock, zapping me as he leaves a trail of wicked desire all along my stomach.
“Anderson,” he moans, thrusting his hips up to meet mine. “Naked. We need to be naked. Like, now.”
He sits up, forcing me to lean back on my haunches as he drags my sweatshirt over my head. He pulls his own shirt off before his mouth returns to my chest. A hot, wet tongue swipes over my nipple, a gasp falling off my lips as my dick twitches in my pants.
His eyes, dark and hungry, look up at me under hooded lids. “Need you.”
My lips crash down on his in a messy, bruising clash of teeth and tongue. As I grind my hips down on his, his erection evident as it rubs against mine. His confident fingers dance up and down my spine, a heated chill thundering through me.