Josiah’s scent swirls around me, making my head dizzy. He’s more intoxicating than any whiskey or weed. The feel of his fingertips working into my shoulders sets my blood on fire, and suddenly, breathing is difficult.
“That feels really good,” I breathe out, feeling his touch everywhere.
“I’ll bet it does.” He’s so close to me, I can feel his hot breath fan my neck. Goosebumps bloom over my flesh, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stifle a groan.
“How are you so good at this?”
“I’m good at everything,” he teases, and boy, does that open a can of worms behind my closed eyes.
“I’ll bet you are,” I throw his words back at him, my voice coming out much more sultry than I intended.
If Josiah notices, though, he doesn’t let on. He works the muscles in my shoulder with confidence, like he’s done this dozens of times—a thought that makes my gut twinge with an emotion I refuse to name.
“I’m glad you came tonight.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“Me too.” He says it so simply.
A grin slides on my lips at his honesty. I’m glad my back’s to him so he can’t see me.
I’m so far gone for him.
7
JOSIAH
Ishouldn’t be here.
I should be at home, not sitting in the back of my pickup truck with my niece’s boyfriend propped between my legs as I rub his shoulders. Segan and I have been walking a very fine line for months now, and I can’t seem to pull myself away.
Every single time I see Lana, guilt twists painfully in my stomach. She loves Segan, and her happiness is important to me. If anyone understands what it’s like to grow up with folks like hers, it’s me. I know how badly she needs people in her corner. People who get her, and love her for who she is, not who they expect her to be. And here I am, one of the few people in her corner, giving her boyfriend a damn massage while I try to hide my erection.
Something’s going on with Lana. It’s becoming clearer every new day I see her. The light in her eyes is burning out; I hardly ever see her smile or hear her laugh anymore, and even Segan seems to notice, he won’t open up much about it.
But it’s wrong.
I see the way Segan looks at me. I’ve seen the way he’s looked at me for the last almost year now. It should turn me off. Should make me want to set him straight. Or keep my distance.
It’s done none of that, though.
I love the way he looks at me. Love the way his breath hitches if I get too close. I love the way his eyes watch my lips move as I talk or smoke or drink. And the way Segan isn’t a shy or timid guy, but he turns that way around me.
Like I said… we’re walking a fine line. The waters are getting murkier by the day, and I wish more of me wanted to put a stop to it.
The pulse in my ears is deafening as Segan turns into putty under my hands. He really is too tense, and I’ve had to work out a gnarly knot in between his shoulder blades. After I’m done, I let my hands run up and down his arms, feeling him shiver. He turns slightly, so he can look at me, but not all the way, so we’re face to face. His cheeks are flushed, even more obvious under the moonlit glow, and his green eyes are glossy and slightly bloodshot.
We’re wrapped up in this bubble of just him and me, the air stifling, and I have the strongest urge to lean in and close the distance. To say to hell with right and wrong, and finally give in to this thing simmering between us. Segan licks his lips, and I know he’s thinking the same thing, and when he rests an open palm on my thigh, I think he may act on it.
“What is this between us, Josiah?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
It’s a question I’ve asked myself numerous times, lying awake at night with Segan on my mind. He doesn’t give me a chance to answer, though—not that I’d have one anyway—when he leans in, breath fanning over my lips before he seals his to mine. It starts out gentle, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll shove him away, but doesn’t he know I could never? When it comes to Segan, I’ve quickly learned he’s a weakness I never knew I had.
A deep, throaty groan vibrates from him when my tongue slips into his mouth, tangling with his, tasting him for the first time. His flavor and his scent surrounding me is a comfort like none other. He turns the rest of the way to face me, climbing into my lap as one hand grips the shirt at my side and the other threads through the hair on the nape of my neck, tugging gently.
I’ve wondered for much longer than I should’ve how his lips would feel against mine, and the reality exceeds any fantasy. They’re soft but firm, confident, even though I know he’s probably nervous.
I let my hands slide under his shirt, nails gently raking down the skin of his back, loving the way he trembles in my arms.
But all too soon, we’re torn from the moment when a blood-curdling scream sounds in the night. We both jump, heads snapping in the direction of the noise. A look passes between both of us, eyes wide, lips slick and swollen, before our senses seem to kick into gear.
