My eyes met Reese’s then, and the way he looked at me was with a newfound respect, like everything about who I was as a person had changed now that he knew what I’d been through.
If he only knew that wasn’t even the half of it.
A crack of lightning lit up the house, the thunder that followed waking me from my daze. I shook my head, forcing a smile as I stood straight. “So,” I said. “Soup?”
Reese smiled, letting out a long breath like his chest had been wound up tight just like mine. “Soup. I’ll grab the bowls.”
The soup had grown cold, so I reheated it in the microwave once we’d split it between two bowls. Then, Reese and I curled up on opposite ends of the couch, Rojo between us as an old movie played on the TV, the rain still pouring down outside. I wasn’t sure either one of us even watched the film, but the noise was comforting, the occasional reason to smile or laugh a nice relief.
Rojo laid her head in my lap once I’d finished eating, and I rubbed behind her ears absentmindedly, my thoughts drifting all over the place. I thought of my father, of how the anniversary of his death would come up soon. It had been almost six years now, which meant that really, Reese and I had been going through the same thing at the same time on two opposite sides of the country. I wondered how many other people were dealing with that grief right now, losing a parent or friend or — worse — a child.
Death never scared me, not after I lost my dad. Truthfully, it was easy to die, to have your life snuffed out and slip into nothingness. Maybe there was a heaven. Maybe a new life started all over again.
Regardless, it wasn’t death that hurt.
It was surviving the death of others that was the real killer, the real pain we should all be afraid of.
And I hated that Reese knew that pain, too.
I was still lost in my thoughts when Rojo heaved herself up off the couch, lazily crossing to where her food was in the kitchen. When she came back, she climbed up on the opposite side of me, forcing her way between the arm of the couch and my body. I laughed, scooting over so she could actually fit, though her hind legs were still in my lap.
Reese snickered. “Just a little over a week here and she already runs this place.”
“She certainly seems to feel right at home.”
“Oh, just imagine that same attitude when we crawl into bed at night.” Reese shook his head. “She takes up the whole thing. I have a tiny little sliver for myself.”
As if she heard him, Rojo stretched out, feet digging into my sides. It didn’t hurt, but it tickled, and I scooted away in a fit of laughter as Reese chuckled, too.
Both of us stopped when my leg hit his.
I sobered, face falling flat when I realized I was sitting right next to him, our thighs in line, the seam of my still slightly damp jeans touching his sweatpants. My eyes trailed up from where our knees touched, following the line of our bodies until I found the hem of his t-shirt, his muscular arm, his broad chest. I swallowed when my gaze trailed over his lips, and the ability to breathe left me completely when my eyes found his.
He watched me with that familiar crease between his brows, his emerald eyes flicking between mine.
“I never thanked you,” he said, his stare more like physical hands holding me to that spot. “For coming over. For not leaving when I was a complete ass to you.” The corner of his mouth flickered into a smile at that, but it fell quickly. “For not looking at me like you feel sorry for me.”
“Trust me,” I said, something between a laugh and a scoff springing from my throat. “Sorry is the last thing I feel for you.”
Reese blinked, his gaze flicking to my lips so briefly I swore I imagined it. “What’s the first?”
I didn’t answer, didn’t have time to answer before his gaze dropped again, and this time there was no second guessing it.
Reese Walker was staring at my lips.
He was staring at my lips like he wanted them for his own, like every muscle in his body ached for him to close the distance between us so he could taste them.
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. I just sat there, lips parted, breaths so shallow in my chest that I was dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Reese reached for me with his gaze still on my lips, his hand touching mine before he trailed it up to my wrist, my forearm, gripping me lightly behind my elbow and pulling me in closer.
My breath caught, Reese’s eyes darting up to meet my gaze as his hand continued up my arm. I shuddered when the warmth of his hand slid over my cool neck, his fingers wrapping around the back of it, thumb and forefinger framing my ear. He swallowed, and I watched the way his throat tightened, the way those muscles ebbed and flowed as he pulled me in closer.
My heart thundered under my chest, the pouring rain outside doing nothing to cover it. It was all I heard, the beats of it erratic in my ears, my throat throbbing with the pulse. I hoped it had pushed enough blood to my organs to keep me alive, because it stopped beating altogether as soon as Reese tilted my chin, lowering his lips to mine.
I closed my eyes as soon as our lips touched, the kiss so light and gentle that I almost wondered if it were happening at all. He still cradled my face, our lips barely brushing, and then he tugged me in closer, pressing the full weight of his mouth on mine.
A breathy sigh left my nose, everything that had stopped kicking back to life in a whir — my heart, the rain, time. It all seemed to rush in like a flash flood, taking me down with it. Reese’s breaths came just as hard as mine, like he was drowning too as our lips melded together, my hands threading around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more.
Everything about that man was so hard — the bend of his brows, the sharp edges of his jaw, the muscles under his white t-shirt. But his lips? His lips were the softest command, smooth like rose petals, yet powerful enough to bend me in a silent plea to submit. I opened my mouth on a gasp, and his tongue swept in, both of us letting out moans that sent chills racing down to my ankles.
I climbed into his lap like I’d done it before, like I wasn’t home until every inch of me touched every inch of him, like the cells in his body called to those in mine. My legs spread, knees hitting the couch on either side of him as he kissed me harder. He groaned when our middles met, when the hot center of me brushed against the hardness of him, and he bit my lower lip like it was taking everything in him to restrain himself after that.
Who even was I?
The way I surrounded him, the way I touched him was the way I’d always imagined I would one day — when the right man came along, when I made it out of the house and away from my piano long enough to fall in love. I imagined being kissed just like this, being held just like this, being in control — just like this.
Only this was so much more than I even could have imagined.
Everything about him invaded my senses — the warmth of his lips, the hot pressure of his hands, the strong scent of him; fresh soap, tobacco, pine.
Man.
He was all man, all hard muscle and protective care. He held me reverently, lips moving with slow, calculated pressure as I succumbed to him. I’d wanted that kiss for so long, wanted to feel his hands on me, wanted to have my hands on him. It wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t just a school girl lusting after my teacher.
I saw Reese, just as he saw me.
It didn’t matter if it was wrong, if he was older, if I was his student.