The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 15

It wasn’t going to be overlooked anymore.
Channing and I always fought over his crew involvement. I’d stepped away when his dad went to prison, so he could focus on raising Bren. But there was another reason we broke up last year.
It was the one thing that made me jealous of Samantha.
Maybe that was why I texted him back.
Maybe I just wanted…
No. I couldn’t go there. Not yet.
Still, I grabbed his hand and pulled it out of my pants. I rolled off the bed to my feet in one movement, and my hands found my hips.
I panted slightly as I met his gaze.
“What are you doing?” He sat up, his white shirt fitting so perfectly and deliciously. I pulled my gaze away.
“I—” I didn’t know.
God, it hurt. My entire chest was trying to implode inside of me.
“Heather.”
He moved to the edge of the bed. Rubbing a hand over his face, he then raked it through his hair.
“We’ve been in and out of each other’s beds a lot lately,” I rasped out.
Was I actually going here? Really? Me, who hated talking about the real issues? Me, who hated feeling?
Shit. I was.
A wall slammed over his eyes. His face became masked. “Yeah.”
It happened so quickly. Years of baggage did that.
“Do you think we should talk about why we broke up this last time?”
My voice was a whisper. I couldn’t help myself. I was pissing my pants here.
A flicker of emotion exploded in his gaze, but he turned away. His head went down. I knew I’d hurt him. I was hurting too. I felt a knot in my throat, thinking about it.
“We break up for different reasons all the time,” he murmured. “We both know why we broke up this last time.”
Yep. Here we were.
The ground was moving underneath me. I wanted it to stop, and I could make it stop. I could drop the conversation, go to him, touch him, kiss him, pull him down over me, and it would be done. We might not bring it up for days, weeks, even months.
We could go that route. We were experts at avoiding the real issues.
But…
It.
She wasn’t an it.
I was done. I don’t know why, but I was tired of ignoring her.
I was tired of ignoring how my insides had been ripping over every morning since. “I lost her too, you know?”
I was tired of ignoring how I’d never be the same since her.
“I know.” He looked back, turning only halfway, his face still masked.
I closed my eyes.
I sat beside him, an inch of space between us. In some ways, this signified our relationship. We were both there, but not together. We were on our own, not connected and not touching.
I needed to stop thinking about this.
It just hurt. That was all.
“We both lost our daughter,” I said, my throat raw.
He sucked in his breath, straightening up. “I know.” He reached for my hand, his arm going under me as he lifted me onto his lap. His head rested against my shoulder, and he kissed me. He held me tight, and his entire body let loose a deep sigh.
I felt him relax around me.
There. She’d been brought up. She wasn’t something we were ignoring.
It hurt, but it felt…necessary.
It felt…better.
But my throat was burning, and though my chest felt lighter, I wasn’t ready for the next step: talking.
I just sat. He just held me. And after a while, the air in the room seemed to ease.
His arms loosened.
The tension in me lifted slightly, and I could feel him underneath me. Every inch of him. I could feel his gaze on me. He’d come in here with a need to claim me, and that was still there, but it had shifted. It had morphed into a different need. I knew this, because I was feeling it too.
Unable to stop myself, I moved so I could comb my fingers through his hair.
His eyes closed, savoring my touch until I swung my legs around to straddle him. I leaned over. His eyes opened, and there was so much love swimming there. He saw how much I needed him. God help me, I needed him.
I felt his hand sliding up the back of my legs, and he pressed into me. My chest was at his neck, his hands were at my hips now, spanning my waist, and he nodded.
I moaned as his hand moved up my back, under my tank top, and the other hand lowered my sleeping shorts just enough. He cupped me, and as our gazes held, a finger slipped inside.
I gasped, melting farther into him. His arm tightened around my waist. He held me, looking up and holding my gaze captive as his finger stroked me. A second joined it, and I grabbed his shoulders.
It felt so damned good, always so damned good—because this was what we were good at—and he kept sliding them in and out, going farther and farther in. I clutched him now. My fingers curled, my nails sinking into his skin, and I bit my lip.
I started to close my eyes, wanting to surrender completely to the storm he could give my body, but he said, “Don’t!”
His eyes blazed at me, and I nodded.
He wanted to see me come. He wanted to see my pupils dilate, and I hated and loved when he did this.
He made me vulnerable in the rawest state I could be in—completely exposed as he watched me.
A third finger moved in, and I lay against him, still sitting up.
Face to face. Nose to nose. His eyes kept flicking to my lips, but he wouldn’t kiss me. If he did, my eyes would close, and he couldn’t watch me. He couldn’t see the hold he had over my body, inside and out, and because of that, I grazed my lips over his.
He moaned, but pulled back.
“Not fair,” he ground out, his fingers surging high and pausing.
I felt them close to my stomach, and I gasped, but held still.
God.
Please.
They were almost where she had been.
He moved them around, then pulled them out, only to thrust in again.
“Chan,” I moaned, my head falling back, my eyes closing again.
“Heather,” he growled, gripping the back of my neck, making me watch him.
Oh—oh—oooh.
I felt the climax rising, building slowly. Channing grinned, slowing down, and I groaned.
I hit his shoulder with a fist. “You dick.”
He was drawing this out.
He chuckled, but he gave in, moving to kiss my shoulder.
I started to ride his hand. I couldn’t help myself any longer. I had to release, and my breasts began to brush his chest. With a growl, Channing ripped my shirt off. He tossed it to the side and cupped one of my breasts. His thumb tweaked my nipple, sending sensations all through me.
I wanted to come. I wanted it so bad, and I reached down, holding his wrist in place so I could ride him the way I wanted to. I wanted to have control, but a soft chuckle caressed me as he moved up, his lips finding mine before he said, “No, no.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
Letting go of my breast, his other hand went to my waist, and he gripped me close, standing in the same motion.
I squeaked, my arms going around his neck, and my legs wrapping around his waist. He walked me back, holding me against the wall, and then his mouth found mine. But this time, there was nothing soft about it. No teasing graze, no slight nip. This time, his lips opened over mine in a hard kiss, a brutal kiss, and one I succumbed to gladly.
I shifted higher against him, as if we really were having sex, and it wasn’t just his fingers in me. Holy shit, I wanted that—so fucking bad.
“Channing!”
He laughed again, pulling back so he could watch me. He had a dark and primal look on his face, one I knew always lurked under the surface, and he stroked me harder. He wasn’t holding back anymore.