“Pompous, over-confident, son of a . . .” I growled into my pillow, hating that there might be a slice of truth to his words.
I remembered very well how much I loved it when he didn’t leave me alone. Jared’s favorite place was anywhere he could get me naked.
My phone buzzed and lit up again, and I blinked, knowing I just needed to ignore him.
But I lifted my head anyway, still scowling as I read the text floating across the top of the screen.
I won’t come near you. Yet. I’d rather watch you.
My breath caught. “What?” I whispered to myself, scrunching my eyebrows together.
Watch me? I swallowed and tried to compose myself, not sure if I was reading that correctly. Picking up the phone, I threw off the covers and tiptoed to the end of the bed, where I peeked out my French doors and through the tree of dense foliage.
Where are you? I texted, not seeing a light coming from his old room. How could he watch me unless he could see me? All of a sudden I straightened, a stream of light slipping through my sheer curtains from a lamp in his old room, now illuminated.
I tucked my hair behind my ear as a nervous heat flared up in my chest. I pushed up my sleeves and crossed my arms over my chest, my heart fluttering with quick beats.
Jared appeared at the window, and I backed away, blanketing myself in darkness. “Shit,” I whispered, as if I thought he could hear me. Why is he home and not at Madoc’s?
At least since he was the one with the lights on, I could see him, but he couldn’t see me.
He still wore his black pants from before, but his belt and T-shirt were now off, and he just stood there, looking like he knew exactly where I was. Even from here, I could see his playful eyes, and I knew, without a doubt, that if I opened my doors, he would come over. Just like old times.
Knowing that sent a shiver up my arms.
He brought up his phone level with his waist, texting, and I let my eyes linger on his body—the abs, tight and narrow that I’d traced with my tongue more than once.
I growled low, averting my eyes.
My phone vibrated, and I slid the screen to look at the message.
You were beyond beautiful at the track tonight.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to harden myself against his soft side. He rarely showed it, which gave it more of an impact, and I didn’t want him saying nice things to me.
Even after all this time, you still kill me. I still want you, Tate.
“Don’t,” I whispered to no one, and then, sighing, I lowered myself to the end of the bed, still seeing his dark form out of the corner of my eye.
I missed the way your body used to move with mine, he texted again. I dropped my head forward, reading the texts as they came in.
But I never forgot it.
I remember every inch of your skin. Every taste, every sound you’d make . . .
The moonlight fell on my lap, and I could see my fingers turning white as I squeezed the phone.
He did know every inch of me, and he could play me like an instrument. His demanding hands and mouth were so greedy, and I dropped my head back, feeling a trickle of sweat glide down my spine.
Shit.
My fingers tingled, and I knew what he was trying to do, and I didn’t want him to stop.
Seems you’re the one with poor conversational skills tonight, he texted.
I rolled my eyes.
You may think you’re different, but you’re not. I know you still feel me, he wrote, and I gritted my teeth at his arrogance, even as I clenched my thighs at his memory.
So many times I was inside of you, he taunted. Tell me you remember, or I’ll have to remind you.
I closed my eyes, my pulse pumping through my body like a drum.
Jared.
I ran my hand down my thigh, fucking loving the rush between my legs. It had been so long.
“Damn him,” I gasped under my breath.
Do you want me to stop? he asked.
I took in short, fast breaths as I stared at the screen.
Do it. Tell him to stop, I told myself. This is fucked-up, and he can’t have you.
But my skin was on fire. And it felt like home.
Like warmth and peace and no matter what changed in my life, the people I met, the things I lost, or where I lived, if I was in his orbit, then I was home.
Even when I was eleven and it had been one year to the day that my mother had died, Jared was my beacon that day. He didn’t leave my side, even when I ignored him. He just pushed me on our old tire swing in the backyard for two hours until I finally stopped crying and started talking. He was my friend. We had a strong foundation.
And then, as he became a man, the feelings became stronger. So much stronger.
I sat there and ground my ass in a small circle, giving myself the pleasure of the friction from my shorts and thong against my skin.
He texted again, and I gave in, reading his words.
I loved the skin on the curve of your thigh, Tate. The part where your leg met your hip. It was heaven, and even now, I can still taste it.
My eyes fluttered, and I let my body fall back onto the bed as I grazed the part of my thigh that he loved.
You used to grip my hair so hard that you were damn near riding my face. Your dad never knew how bad you really were.
I ran the heel of my palm over my clit through my pajama shorts and moaned, thinking about his covert morning visits before school. He’d sneak in, bury his head between my legs, and go so hard he’d have to put a hand over my mouth so we weren’t overheard.
Sophomore year when you started track . . . your legs got so toned. I thought you were trying to drive me crazy on purpose.
I slid my middle finger between my folds over my thin shorts, and I couldn’t help it.
I craved his rough hands on me again.
I tensed every muscle in my chest, bringing my breasts higher, and I imagined his long fingers sliding under my hoodie, because he could never keep his damn hands off my chest.
You always fit so perfectly, Tate. The way you’d arch your hips back into me when I fucked you from behind.
“Fuck,” I groaned at the memory, rolling my hips into my hand and closing my eyes.