When he finally lets out a deep breath of air, untangling and loosening his stiff muscles, softening beneath me, I seal my wet lips to his, and he fuckingtrembles. I lift my head with a soft smile, meet his teary gaze and try to show him everything—every ounce of love, of comfort, of fire I carry inside me.
I let himseeit.
Everything I am. And everything I am is his.
Always.
“It’s okay to hurt, Ty. It’sokay,” I say, my voice steady even if I want to fall apart right beside him. “I hurt, too. Let it out. I’ll be here to catch you—forever.”
He lets out a shaky sigh, blinking up at me. “I know,” he whispers. “Shit, this is stupid.” His lips twitch. “They’re mostly happy tears, I think.” The smile is wobbly, but it’s there.
I let go of one of his hands and trail my fingers across his lips.
“Are you still sure about this?” I ask the question I’ve been most afraid of asking, the question I’ve been holding inside. “About us? The distance?” I need to ask it. Even if I don’t want to hear the answer. Because if it ever comes to it—if he can’t do this anymore—I’ll quit. I’ll say fuck the music, fuck the fame.
I’ll choose him.
It’s always him.
It’ll always be him.
But he nods in a hurry, grabbing my waist again under my shirt, like I knew he would. He’s a dreamer, like me, and I know hewantsme to live mine just as he intends to live his. “Yes, of course. I want this, us. I’ll want you forever. In any way I can. Are you?”
“Fuck, yeah.” I give him a slow kiss, lingering a bit too long on my favorite pair of lips. “Like I said. The worst part is over. When we’re touring again after this one? We’ll be the one fronting. And if Jodie’s predictions are correct? Then the label is gonna besohappy with us, I’ll have much more leeway and demand they fix visits for us during tours. I promise you that.”
“You promise? You sure it’s gonna get better?” The hope is clear in the shine of his gorgeous deep eyes.
I nod and seal the deal with another peck on his addictive lips. I don’t know if I can pull it off, but I’m sure as fuck gonna try. That’s a promise Icankeep.
His eyes soften, and he mutters anI love you so much,just before our mouths find one another again. It’s dizzying, overwhelming, all-consuming.
I have to be strong. Ihaveto. So he can let go. So he can fall apart if he needs to. That way I can catch him, piece himback together. Hold us steady. For I’m too afraid that if we both crumble under the weight of this overwhelming love—under this unbearableacheas he calls it—nobody will be there to pick up the pieces and who we are,whatwe are will drift away like dust in the wind.
I can’t have that.
So I endure. For him. For us.
Because in the end, this is worth it. It has to be.
“Make love to me, Jacie,” he rumbles against my mouth, voice rough. “I’ve missed you too much…”Kiss.“Fuck.” Kiss.“I need you inside me…”
A shiver rakes down my spine at the invitation as I bite his lower lip, flirting the tip of my tongue over it. “Of course, baby... I got you,” I breathe between hot kisses, licks, and bites. I press a kiss on his lower lip, then the top, both of his cheeks before leaning back and whipping off my shirt, tossing it somewhere behind me without care.
He groans instantly, hands flying to my chest, grazing over my pecs, my shoulders. His eyes—half-lidded and hungry—follow every movement in awe. Like he still can’t believe this is real. That we’re here, together. Able to touch. To haveeach other.
He pulls me down by the shoulders and crashes his mouth to mine again—desperate, frantic, and perfectly on-brand. I match his pace, kiss for kiss. … But I needhis skin as well, I want to get closer, to feel him, love him…
I drop a few more kisses on his mouth—because I can’t not—then reach for the hem of his sweatshirt and the shirt beneath it. “Arms up, baby… Let me see you,” I whisper, echoing his words from earlier.
He obeys without hesitation, and when he’s lying back again, the fabric tossed to the floor—I can only fucking stare.
“Oh, shit.” I graze my fingers over the fuckingeightpack,breath hitching. He’s fuckingbuilt. “This isinsane. You did thissince exams?”
“You like?” The corner of his mouth pulls up, and a hint of his confidence creeps back in.
“Oh, do Ilikeit? Fuck…” I flutter my fingers over the hard edges, groaning when his abs contract under my touch. “Iloveit… I loveyou.” I just can’t say it often enough. “But fuck, I almost feel like a slacker.” I glance down at my own stomach with a grin. Sure, I’m fit. I’ve got abs. I’ve got muscle. But I’m nowherenearwhat he’s working with.
He’sripped. That’s the only word for it.
