Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
She opens her mouth to protest again, but I speak first.
“If you’d rather not, I understand. But I feel left in the dark here, scared to make a misstep with you.”
I’ve never been in this position before. I don’t know what’s right or wrong. Touching her, wanting to make her feel better seems natural, but then would that only make things worse in the long run? I don’t know anymore.
Outside of this moment, I’ve been having a slight freak-out of my own. I’ve been confused, most certainly. I’d like nothing more than to go back to feeling totally in control of my life, to tidy up all these loose ends and refocus on what’s important (or at least, what seemed important in the past), but Casey is all I can think about.
Tyson mentioned her at lunch earlier. It was only something simple. He asked if I’d had much more opportunity to see her around the ship, and I nearly chewed his head off.
“Why do you feel the need to pry into my life? That’s none of your damn business.”
He’d laughed it off. “Jesus. All right. I won’t ask again.”
Immediately after, I regretted how I responded. Getting my hackles up like that was clearly indicative of my state of mind. I’ve been worried about this . . . fling with Casey, and having him ask about her made it all seem so obvious, as if everyone could see the situation clearly except for me. It pissed me off.
“I know I shouldn’t be here,” Casey begins. “But I just feel like . . . I just want you for one more night. I swear it’s done after this.”
I close my eyes and stave off the urge to kiss her. God, I’m as desperate for the connection and intimacy as she is. I can no longer deny my full-blown attraction to her. The chemistry between us is explosive, but it feels so unnatural to give in to something I want, as if, surely, it’s wrong or bad for me in some way. Love should come prepackaged with labels and clear instructions. Love. I choke on the word. We’re not even close to that. Absolutely not.
This is just a fire between us—an inferno—and it will surely burn out.
So what’s the harm in giving in like she wants?
I don’t know. I can’t think clearly when she stands and presses her body up against mine, seeking me out. She keeps my hands in hers and circles them behind her back, forcing me into a hug. Her cheek rests against my chest, and her eyes close. We stay there long enough so that my entire body turns languid. I know how she’s feeling right now because I’m feeling it too. The touch of a lover—the soothing feel of being held in someone’s arms. Someone who cares for you.
I lean down and kiss the top of her head, and then I unwind our arms and lead her into the bathroom.
She’s still damp and probably cold. I crank the handle in the shower, letting the water run until it begins to steam and fog the glass. Caring for her seems right, so I don’t question it when I walk over and catch the hem of her cover-up, dragging it over her hips and stomach and chest until she lifts her arms and lets me take it off over her head. I drop it on the floor and then reach behind her neck for the strings of her bikini. She shivers as I work the bow loose. The material slips down, and then I untie the second one behind her back, and it falls away completely. I take a moment to look over her, memorizing her body, tan and pink and perky and so sexy that I have a hard time not touching her.
I want to tiptoe my fingers up the center of her stomach, cup her breasts, kiss her—push her down to the ground . . .
Instead, I slip her bikini bottoms down so she can step out of them completely.
“Get in,” I tell her, nodding toward the shower. The water should be perfect now, and I watch her step in and stand beneath the steady stream. Water sluices down her collarbone, her breasts, her ribs . . . stomach . . . I watch a droplet make its way inside the groove of her thigh, and when I look up again, Casey’s watching me. Her face is red and splotchy—beautiful, always—but sad in a way that makes my breath hitch.
I want to know what’s bothering her, but I know I can’t keep pressing her, at least not right now.
She watches me undress. Originally, it wasn’t my intention to get in with her, but I want that closeness again. She’s a light I want to feed off of, take from, forever.