Chapter Nineteen

Amber

Fireworks.

White-hot heat and smooth-as-honey comfort.

The boy’s lips were a crazy electric battle of hard and soft, hungry and selfless.

His kiss tasted unique to him—warmth and spearmint and energy and everything that had me craving more.

Whenever Brandon had kissed me, I wasn’t this active of a participant, wasn’t this…starved. I hated that my mind went there, that it compared the two, but it did. And there was no denying this was different.

Epic.

Intoxicating.

Fun.

Safe.

The stark realization jolted me out of the kiss. My feet hung off the floor as Dean held me pinned to him—his grip strong but gentle—and in that moment, I knew this was right. He had me trapped in his embrace, so much stronger than me, and yet, I felt no need to break his grasp. No fear of not being let go if I asked.

All the nerves and anticipation I’d had leading up to this trip…it vanished. Evaporated in the swell of heat that swept beneath my skin.

“Pixie,” Dean said, his breath sweet on my lips. He trailed the tip of his nose over mine, pressing his forehead to mine as he slowly lowered me back to the floor.

I grinned up at him, staying tucked underneath his arm, basking in the levity of trust, respect, and excitement.

Funny, I would’ve never known how important those things were if not for…

I tensed, the memories hitting me hard and fast. Dean sensed the shift, the crease between his brows deep as he glanced down at me. He motioned toward the back of the audience, where I knew the exit was.

I nodded, more than happy to beat the crowd before the concert ended.

“You okay?” he asked me in the cab, our fingers laced together.

“Yeah,” I said, lost in my thoughts as we rode back to the hotel.

I wanted more from Dean. Could feel it churning in my core.

That was huge.

But how could I truly be with him if he didn’t know the truth?

Would he think less of me if he knew? Would he put distance between us? Regret the kiss we just shared?

What if he takes Brandon’s side?

I shook my head, trying to force the thoughts from my brain as we rode the elevator up to our room.

Our room.

Sure, there were two beds.

Yes, I’d assured Mom we’d each be sleeping in one. But after everything…after that kiss? I sure as hell didn’t want to.

“Amber,” Dean said, a plea in his tone after I came out of the bathroom, totally transformed from concert-chic to comic-book-pj-fantastic. “Talk to me.”

I wrung my hands, pacing the space in front of him where he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Was it the kiss?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “Well, yes and no.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin things again,” he said. “If I did.”

I froze for a moment. “You didn’t. I swear. I just…” I started pacing again. “I liked it. Loved it. Dean…I like you. More than I thought possible.”

A wide, easy smile shaped his lips as he stared up at me. It fell in a few breaths. “Why do I feel a but coming?”

“I just,” I said, my stomach dipping. What would I tell a person on the blog? What advice would I give?

I’d urge them to be truthful and strong and love who they were. To not be afraid of rejection, no matter how hard it was.

God, it was so much easier to give advice than take it.

“I can’t be more with you until you know the truth,” I said. “The reason behind my tears the first time we kissed.” Heat flushed my entire body. I couldn’t believe I was about to tell him, but I had to know how he’d react.

And he had a right to know. To decide for himself if he thought I was…damaged.

“Pixie,” he said, standing up to cup my cheek. “DC, remember? You can tell me anything. I’m not going anywhere.”

With those words, I sucked in a deep breath and closed my eyes. The story from that night spilled from my lips.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I finished laying the dark pieces of my soul bare. Shocked retelling the tale hadn’t brought tears to my eyes. I took comfort from that strength, but it did little to ease my tangled nerves.

“We made Jake sleep at my house that night,” I said, sighing. “He was in such a rage. And I didn’t want him getting expelled over that jerk.” I wrapped my arms around myself, the cold from revisiting the night having crept into my bones. “I had to talk Mom out of pressing charges,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe I should’ve let her. Maybe not. I was so confused and in shock I think…” My words died in my throat, telling the story aloud both cathartic and exhausting.

Dean was frozen on the edge of the bed, his fists clenched against the white comforter.

Oh God, he thinks I asked for it, too.

He thinks I brought it on myself dating a guy like Brandon.

I clenched my eyes shut.

I was so sick of the past. So sick of it ruining every good thing about my present.

Warm, almost timid, arms enveloped me.

Dean tipped my chin to meet his eyes, a combination of hate, hurt, and hope swirling in those blue-grays.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sucking in a breath.

He furrowed his brow. “What the hell for?”

I shrugged. “For what happened. For—”

“Stop,” he cut me off. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. That asshole did. And the fact that he got in your head and made you feel like you begged for it, like you made it happen…” His gaze went dark as he glanced to the side—he was somewhere far away, doing something very, very bad. The steady rise and fall of his chest brought his attention back to me. He smoothed his fingers over my cheeks. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I didn’t have a clue it was that bad.”

“How could you?” I asked.

“I wish… Damn it. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“For pushing you. Kissing you.” The words seemed painful coming from his lips. He took a giant step back. “I shouldn’t have… If I would’ve known…”

“Please don’t, Dean,” I said, following him as he retreated. “Don’t treat me like I’m damaged. Breakable. That’s the last thing I want.” I cringed. “Unless that’s the only way you can see me now?”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, his hands locked in place at his sides as I stopped within an inch of his body. “You know that’s not true.”

“I don’t know anything,” I said, shaking my head. “Except for the way I feel when I’m with you.”

“And,” he said, “what do you feel?”

“Safe.”

A sigh flew from his lips as he reached for me again, his hand soft and strong as it slid from my cheek to my neck. “Pixie,” he said, and my entire body reacted to the way his tongue curled around my alias. “All I want to do is erase every bad mark he left on your soul.” He inched his forehead down, leaning it against mine. “But I know you don’t need me to. I know you, Pixie, and you’re strong enough to heal yourself. I’ll never push you. Never ask you for more than you want to give. But, please, let me be here for you. In any way I can.”

A bubbly laugh flew from my lips as I smiled up at him. “I’m not strong right now,” I said, my cheeks flushing. “Because I can’t stop thinking about how good your lips feel on mine.”

Another low growl, this a test of willpower as I popped up on my tiptoes to brush my lips over his.

“Is that…wrong of me?” I asked, sinking back down when he held so still I wasn’t sure he was breathing. I chewed on my lip. “Should I not want this with you? Because it hasn’t even been a year yet?”

“It’s not wrong,” he said. “Unless it feels that way.”

I shook my head. “Everything I do with you…it feels beyond right.”

A small smile shaped his lips.

“Dean?” I asked, my voice soft as I smoothed my hand over his chest.

“Pixie?”

“Kiss me?” My heart filled my throat, damn near blocked the words, but within two blinks, Dean had stolen the little breath I’d managed.

His lips on mine. A sweet, long, and gentle kiss. Hot enough to make my eyes flutter shut and my body arch into his.

“I want this, Amber. I want you,” he said against my lips, barely breaking our kiss. “I just don’t want to cross any lines. I don’t want you regretting a thing with me.”

“Not possible,” I said, gasping for breath as he kissed it from me. I jumped—knowing he’d catch me—and hooked my legs around his hips. He groaned, sinking onto the bed, my knees on either side of him while our lips never broke.

Warm, electric tingles buzzed underneath my skin, humming everywhere he touched. His hands were gentle as they slid up my back, in my hair, and down again, holding me to him like he couldn’t get close enough.

Everything in my heart screamed more.

Everything in my gut told me it was right.

Months of connecting with others through the blog, of taking action with communication, and laying myself bare just now…I’d somehow managed to let go of my past.

I’d become the girl I’d always loved being again.

And now I was confidently, hopelessly lost in Dean’s kiss.

Dean—my confidant, my challenger, my friend.

He made me feel like his while still being solely me.

That was enough to shatter the walls I’d built around my heart, and in the span of a few beats, it belonged to him.

Slowly, I pulled my lips from his and reached across the bed to turn off the lamp on the side table. Heart hammering against my chest, I returned to the bed, lying on my side to face him. I traced the line of his jaw with my fingers, trailing them over his neck and down his chest, until I found the hem. Trembling slightly, I explored the taut skin underneath, sparks of heat traveling in my blood as he gripped my hip and pulled me closer. I hitched my leg over his hip, our bodies aligned as I found his lips again.

God, he tasted good. Felt good. The warmth from him enveloping me…his scent, the way he kissed me like my mouth was something to be savored.

“Dean,” I said, sighing against his lips.

He pulled back an inch, his hand stilling on my hip, his other occupied with propping his head up to look down at me. “Too far?” he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.

“Not even close,” I said, hating that I could be as vocal as I wanted on the blog but was nervous to tell him what I wanted.

I licked my lips, loving that they tasted of him, and grabbed his hand on my hip. I lightly kissed his fingers before moving them over my breasts, and lower, until I settled him beneath the hem of my pajama pants.

“Amber,” he half said, half growled, his eyes never leaving mine. Somehow, that intense look, the connection between us was more intimate than where our hands currently rested.

“I want to know what it’s like,” I said.

“What what is like?” he whispered.

“To be touched when it’s wanted. By someone who really…” I couldn’t find the right words, my head swimming with desire and excitement and nerves. “Please,” I continued. “I trust you. And I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”

“Pixie,” he said before crushing his lips on mine. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

A whimper escaped the back of my throat at his declaration, at the current buzzing between us. I trusted him more than I’d ever trusted anyone in my life.

I drew my hand away from his, my body arching on its own against his gentle touch as he traced the seam of my underwear. I moaned from the contradicting contact—the passion of his kiss and the sweet, almost tease of his fingers.

The sound must have unleashed something inside him, because he groaned against my lips before dipping his hand beneath the piece of fabric separating us.

I gasped at the contact, at the feel of his callused fingers against the warmth of my skin. Tiny bolts of electricity tickled their way up my spine as he explored me, and the heat was so much I was sure I would explode. His touch was gentle and searing at the same time, his kiss consuming. I moved against him, with him, until everything inside me was detached and tangled. Until my body was a coiled spring.

And just when I thought I couldn’t handle a second more without combusting, Dean broke our kiss for long enough to pin me with his gaze before his eyes trailed to where he touched me, where he held me, and back up again. Holding me on the edge of a cliff when I was dying to fly.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and pressed his lips against mine.

The hunger in his kiss, in his touch, unleashed that spring inside me, and I gasped as my body trembled, tumbled, and sparked, until I could do nothing but fall apart in his arms.