I scramble to my feet and head for the door, not even caring that I’m half naked. At this moment, I’d rather parade bare-assed through Back Bay than spend another second in this room with him.
He stops me before I make it two feet. Arms wrap around me from behind, hauling me against his bare chest. I feel his mouth at my ear, rumbling with intensity.
“Phoebe,” he says simply, undoing me with just one word. I feel his forehead hit my shoulder. “Phoebe.”
There’s so much raw emotion in his voice it nearly sends me to my knees. I force my spine to stiffen, so he knows I’m immune to him.
Ha! I wish.
“I’m sorry.” His words are low, hesitant. “I’m an ass. I know that.” He presses closer. “I know I’m no good for you, that I should push you away, that I have no right to ask for a damn thing from you.” He pauses, the silence humming with unspoken words. “But I can’t help myself from wanting you anyway.”
My heart skips a beat.
“You are the only person in my life who hasn’t seen the worst in me from day one.” His voice breaks and it damn near kills me. “The only person who’s always looked at me like I could do anything, be anything, no matter how many other people said otherwise. And I know it’s fucked up… but maybe the reason I push you away so hard is because I know it’ll be easier to bear if I have some control over watching you walk away. Maybe I’m scared that if I let you look too close… you’ll finally see what everyone else has always seen.” He takes a breath. “Garbage.”
There are tears in my eyes when I turn in his arms to look up at him.
“You are not garbage.” My hands lift to cup his face. “You’ve never been garbage.”
His forehead comes down to rest against mine. Our eyes meet and I see something move at the back of his irises — something stark and sad and saturated with longing.
“Phoebe,” he whispers, that one word filled with so much hope it sounds almost like a prayer.
“I’ve—” I almost say loved, but stop myself at the last moment. “I’ve dreamed of you half my life,” I whisper to him. “If you think you’re trash, that means I threw my dreams away on nothing. If you think you’re worthless, then you must think I’m worthless too.”
“No.” His reply is instant. “Never.”
I take a breath. “Are we worthless, Nate?”
There’s a sliver of silence as he stares at me. His hands come up around me, winding into my hair and pulling me closer.
“No.” His voice cracks. “We’re worth everything.”
His mouth lowers, his lips find mine, and when he kisses me, it’s not rough or hard or lust-fueled. There’s a kind of tender desperation in the way he touches me, and the beauty of it steals the air from my lungs, makes my chest ache with need.
There’s not an ounce of hesitation in the way his fingertips slide through the hair at the nape of my neck. No wavering uncertainty as he walks me backward toward my bed. No lingering doubts or dangling regrets when he fuses his lips to mine and kisses me until I can’t breathe.
With every kiss, every stroke, every gasp, he embeds himself deeper in my soul. Until I can’t think of anything but him, of the inevitability of this moment between us. It’s been written in my stars since I was five years old with a crush on the older, off-limits boy next door.
My back presses into the blankets as Nate presses into me. And I know my fingers should be trembling, my courage should be crumbling, but instead of fear there’s only the unshakable feeling that this is right. That he and I were always meant to wind up here together; that his hands were made to touch me, my body built to be explored by him.
“Phoebe,” he mutters against my stomach a few minutes later. I can barely form words, I’m so lost in sensation. “We have to go.”
“Shut up,” I whisper back, fingers exploring his back. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Phoebe—”
“Less talky, more touchy.”
I hear the smile in his voice. “Phoebe—”