Cautiously, I reach out to touch her and she watches my hand but doesn’t back away. With one fingertip I trace the edge of her tank-top strap. Her eyes go half lidded and my finger trails across her collarbone and then up her neck to trace her jawline.
Was that a small moan? I can barely fucking contain myself; I want to explore every inch of her, but I stop as her sharp exhale fills the already thick air between us.
"It doesn't matter to you that I left your house after a phone call?" I want to test her, to see if she still cares for me.
She levels her heated gaze on me. "It doesn't matter to you that I met someone tonight?"
Fuck. It’s a stalemate. We both know each other’s hand but neither will admit it.
My fingers travel up her neck, feather over her jaw, disappear into her hair. She swallows hard as I lean closer, ducking my head and placing my lips on her neck. I don't kiss her, but I hold my lips there, taking in the familiar scent of her skin.
I’m completely floored that she hasn’t racked me in the nuts by now. She wants this … like I want this … and that thought brings everything good about our love back to me. The way we used to be, like two magnets that could never part.
I drag the tip of my nose up her neck, near her ear, across her cheek. Her heart hammers against my chest. We're nose to nose, forehead to forehead, my lips hovering over hers.
"I missed everything about you," I whisper.
"I missed nothing about you," she shoots back with a halfcocked grin.
Lies. All lies. And we both know it.
In that moment my lips crash down on hers, I can't take it anymore. I can't take her refusal to admit we still have something. I want to kiss it out of her, remind her what we had before we hurt each other.
So I do. I cradle the back of her head with my palm and I kiss her the way I've been dreaming of since the day I walked away from her. She moans, threading her fingers into my hair as she opens her lips to deepen the kiss. We're tender at first, careful with one another. The gentle meshing feels like an overdue apology.
But then it changes. The apology gives way to anger. Resentment. Pain. Years of all this, pent up. Autumn kisses me hard, pressing her lips deeply into me as I match her. I feel her lips trembling, her hips ramming into mine. It’s one of those aggressive movie kisses that you never think are real, but this is the realest fucking kiss I’ve ever had. She reaches under my shirt, her warm hands skimming my torso. Then I feel her nails dragging over the skin of my back and I contemplate leaving my father to sleep off the night in the car while I take Autumn into the house.
This kiss is more than a kiss, it’s our goodbye, our hello, our everything. It’s ten years of not speaking after we shared one of the deepest and darkest moments a relationship can ever have. I need Autumn like I need air, and her signals are all green light.
Keeping my lips on hers, my hands travel down, finding the top of her jeans. I unbutton them and push a hand inside, sliding down over the soft cotton of her underwear. Waiting a moment to see if she rejects me, I’m pleased when she tilts her hips harder into my hands. I push aside the fabric and find her center.
Fuck me, I can barely keep the groan off my lips as my finger dips inside and she covers me in heat and moisture. It’s further proof that she wants this, likes this.
A mangled cry comes from deep within her throat, and I swallow it. Of all the times I've done this with Autumn, I've never been anything but gentle. Except for now. There's a roughness to this, a primal instinct in the way I pleasure her. Her fingernails dig into my back as I use my hand against her, rotating in small circles.
She lifts her face to mine, and when she kisses me the fight is gone from her. It's gone from me too. A breeze picks up, pushing her long hair off her shoulder, and I kiss her skin where her tank-top has left her bare. The roughness of my touch has disappeared. Muscle memory has kicked in and I move expertly, remembering what she liked all those years ago, hoping it's what she still prefers.
It is.
Under my hand, her body comes to life. Her breathing picks up in pace, until I feel her breasts push against my chest and her back arches. My mouth comes down onto hers and I devour her sounds. Her breath is heavy as she jumps up and straddles my waist. I catch her ass with one hand and hold her against me as we kiss, my other hand moving faster inside of her. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m suddenly determined to give Autumn an orgasm. To prove that I can still pleasure her? To bring her some amount of bliss after years of pain? Whatever my motive, I move my fingers harder and then brush my thumb in circles over her most sensitive spot.
“Owen.” She clenches against me and starts to shake. “Holy fuck.” She screams as I back up and slam her against the wall of my dad’s house. Autumn rocks against my hand, tightening over my fingers as her orgasm pulses in my hand.
I’m so turned on I can’t even think straight. She finally collapses against my neck and huffs a huge contented sigh along my earlobe. Slipping my hand out of her pants, I lower her to the ground and adjust my hard-on as she buttons her jeans, face flushed red.
I wipe my hand on the inside of my shirt and she smirks.
"That used to embarrass you," I say, reaching up and tucking away a piece of hair that has blown into her face.
"I've grown up a little since then."
I cup my palm around her cheek. "I can see that."
Suddenly, looking at my neighbor’s house, she seems to realize where we are.
“Did you just finger me in your dad’s driveway?” She grins, looking young and carefree, like the old Autumn.
I’m still breathing heavily, wondering what it would be like to make love to her. I’m no longer mad that my dad’s a drunk, because it made this happen.
She looks up at me. "The person I met tonight was a girl. I made a friend."
I laugh once, a relieved sound. "The person who called was my dad. He wanted a drinking buddy..."
One side of her mouth curls into a small smile and I know this is the perfect moment for our talk.
“Autumn, I’m so sorry for what—”
Her face falls and it stops me short. “Owen, don’t.”
My brows furrow. “Don’t what? I’ve been waiting ten years to apologize to you and you’re not going to let me? Why?”
She chews her lip. “Because I’m afraid it won’t do anything.”
Shit. Afraid it won’t fix anything, she means. Afraid that even the most heartfelt apology can’t make her love me again. If that’s not the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is.
She looks into my eyes and I can see the questions floating around in there. They mirror my own.
"Autumn—" I try again.
A garbled yell comes from the front of the house. "Owen?"
Panic takes the place of questions as I remember my father. I step away from Autumn, reaching down to adjust the front of my pants a final time as Autumn runs a hand across her shirt, smoothing out wrinkles that aren't there.
"Coming, Dad," I yell back, grabbing Autumn's hand and pulling her along behind me.
I round the corner and find my dad standing in the space between Faith's car and my own, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
"Owen, did you know Autumn is in town?" He looks at Faith's car, a thick slur to his voice. "This is her car. Where is she?"