Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2) (32 page)

“I didn’t have a real prom date for my senior prom,” I say.

“Liar,” he challenges. I feel his body shake against me in quiet laughter. He thinks I pity him.

“No, really. I went with a few girlfriends. I don’t even have a picture,” I say, closing my eyes as I rest my head against his chest. “And that dance you saw me getting ready for—homecoming, junior year—was a guy who just wanted a date to make someone else jealous. He was the first guy I thought was really into me since you. He left with the other girl.”

I feel the rhythm of his heart against my cheek, and I let myself imagine what our prom pictures would have looked like—what
Andrew
would have looked like, how he never would have let go of my hand the entire night.

“I’m really sorry, Emma,” he says, his chin resting on top of my head now, all of him cradling me. “I really wish I was there.”

We’re moving in inches, my feet never leaving the ice, letting him do the work and gliding us in slow motion with no destination in mind. In his embrace, and out of his view, I let a single tear slide down my cheek, because I really wish he were there, too.

“You’re here now,” I say, my voice raspy and giving me away. He squeezes me tighter, and I shake with one more cry, bringing a hand up to wipe the tear from my cheek before he sees it.

“I am,” he says softly. “I am.”

I can feel him breathe, and I can feel the pause each time he opens his mouth, wanting to say something more.

“You can tell me anything,” I say, finally. “Really. Anything, Andrew.”

I feel him swallow hard.

“We don’t have to talk about it…if you don’t want to. But Graham…” My stomach revolts just hearing his name, and I clutch to Andrew a little harder. His hand finds the back of my head, stroking my hair and cradling me. “Did he…?”

I shake my head quickly, knowing what Andrew’s worry is, and thankful that there was help and that I was able to fight just long enough, loud enough. “He only hit me. He tried—” I stop short before retelling everything.

Andrew whispers “
Shhh
,” above my head and adjusts me in his cradle once more. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop him from hitting you, Emma. So very sorry,” he says.

“Like I said…you’re here now…” I say against him.

We sway in our hold on each other for the next fifteen minutes, until a bright light clicks on near the exit, and Andrew sighs, waving a hand to his friend who let us in. He never lets go of me for long, though, guiding me safely back to the bench and swiftly finding my hand again once our skates are off and we’re walking to the car.

We drive back to his apartment in a rush, and I notice Andrew’s left leg bouncing with his nerves. He grinds the gear on his car as he pulls into a space along his street, and I hold my lips in a tight line to hide my smirk.

I start to step out from his car on my own, but he tells me to wait, rushing around the front so he can open it for me. He doesn’t grab my hand this time, though, instead, both of his hands tugging at the Tech University tag on his key chain, his fingers wrestling with the apartment key I returned to him after Trent made me a copy of his. He’s nervous as we approach the door, and he drops his keys once in his attempt to unlock his apartment, finally opening the door and gesturing for me to step inside before him. He sets his things on a small table near his door then runs his hands through his hair, completely destroying the combed shape, returning his hair to his normal messy look. I secretly like it better this way.

His hands in his pockets, he steps forward a few paces, his posture nearly perfect and his shoulders raised high as his feet move nervously.

“My plan was to have you open the last box now,” he says, shrugging toward it. I step in that direction, but he begins to talk again, so I stop. “I want you to open it. I do. And I’ll let you. It’s just…when I thought this whole evening out, I was…I don’t know…really…”

“Oh god, were you drunk date-planning?” I tease.

“No!” he says, rolling his eyes. “I was just…I don’t know…overly romanticizing things maybe? And now that we’re here, and I’m standing here, and you’re all beautiful, and you smell good, and you feel good, and I’ve held you, and—”

“Andrew…” I sigh, stepping closer to him, placing a hand on his arm, tugging his hand free from his pocket. I lace my fingers with his, pulling his hand to my lips, and pressing a soft kiss against the back of his hand—leaving my lips there as he watches with his mouth hung open.

“
Gah
! Emma,” he says, his eyes scanning down the rest of my body now, the heat there this time—the desire and greed mixing with the amber color of his eyes. “You can open the last box,” he says. “Just…if this seems really silly or childish when you see what’s inside, just know that the sentiment is maybe the most adult thing I’ve ever done in my whole goddamned life.”

My heart starts to race, and I have a small panic over what
could
be in that box. I glance from him to the box and back again a few times, moving my hands slowly to the paper and the lid, checking with him constantly for reassurance. I tear the paper away completely, and lift the lid, still turning to watch Andrew, to watch his reaction. With the lid off, I lean over the large box to look inside, seeing only a small paper folded at the bottom. Andrew nods toward it, urging me to pick it up and open it. I reach in, unfolding it to reveal a simple word written inside.

Me.

My brow pinches as I struggle to understand, but soon Andrew’s hands are around mine, gripping the paper with me.

“Me,” he says, reciting the word. “If you want me—you have
me.
Or…more clearly…I’m yours.”

I blink, staring at his hands, listening to him hand over his heart, and my own beats louder than it ever has, its strength growing by the second, the thump echoing in my chest.

“God, Emma. I’m yours. I’ve
always
been yours. From the moment I saw the dark silk of your hair and the storm in your eyes, I was a lost cause…lost to you. I’ve been through hell, and I would go again. I would go willingly, and would charge through the gates if it meant it would keep you safe.”

My lips part open with a tiny gasp, and my chest shudders at the beautiful honesty of his words—of his promise that I in no possible way deserve.

“Andrew, I never should have let you go to that place. I never should have let them take you away. I should have told the truth, defended you, taken your place…” I say, my eyes burning from the tears building somewhere deep and buried within me.

Andrew moves to me quickly, his hands finding my face, his thumbs erasing the tears as they fall and his eyes searing through mine. “That’s the thing, though,” he says. “I never would have let
you
. You get to come first. I don’t have a choice, Emma, the universe wants you to be my reason for living. I’m a slave to its demand. And I will lo…” Andrew stops his speech suddenly, his body rigid and his eyes scared as hell as they stare back into me.

He shuts them; one small tear escapes, leaving a wet trail along the rough stubble of his face. Such a soft moment on something so hardened and masculine—a face still lightly bruised and battered from aggression cries for
me
now. His eyes are clear when he reopens them, and I fall into him completely.

“I will love you for always,” he says, his voice void of any fear or apprehension. The only sign left that he’s scared at all is the hard swallow that follows the most beautiful thing he could have ever said. He doesn’t ask to love me. He tells me. He claims me. And though he doesn’t say it, I am his too whether I want to be or not—Andrew Harper will spend his last breath defending my honor. I’m lost to this man. I was lost to the boy years ago—happily lost, and so in love in return.

I take the small note still clutched in my hand and bring it to my lips, kissing it and smiling to him.

“You’re mine,” I say, wanting to hear how it sounds, wanting to feel the way the words run off my tongue.

Andrew laughs lightly, nodding just enough. “Yeah…I am.”

“I’m yours,” I say, his eyes widening ever so subtly, giving away his excitement and hunger. “And I will love you more.”

Andrew’s jaw twitches as his gaze remains on me, on my eyes and my mouth and my body. I’m his—and I want to be taken. The air between us is almost thick enough to drown in—our breath gone, and each the only thing the other needs to survive from this point forward.

His mouth mere inches from mine, his lips find mine within the second it takes me to blink. His hands again cradle my face, his body moving me in demanding steps backward through his living room and down the small hallway to his room until my back is flat against his closed door. The sudden stop gives him enough leverage to push the hardness of his body into me.

In one swift movement, his hands rush down my back, scooping me up and wrapping my legs around him as he maneuvers the door open behind me. He takes long, deliberate steps to his bed, his hands grabbing the bottom of my sweater and tugging it over my head as my body slides down his to sit at the end of his mattress.

He turns around, kicking the door closed, then faces me, pulling both of his shirts over his head quickly. My eyes take in his form, but they also gaze over his fading bruises and the few scars left on him from his time at Lake Crest. I slide toward him and run my hands along his hard chest and hot skin, my fingers grazing over every curve, contour, and mark left behind by those who tried to hurt him. I gaze up at him, my breath catching at the way he looks at me, at the love reflected in his eyes.

Leaning forward more, I keep my eyes on his as I kiss my way up his stomach and chest, taking care to be tender where I know he’s still hurt. I trail kisses up the center of his chest, holding my lips longer over his heart as I climb to my knees to reach more of him.

Andrew moves two fingers to my chin, tilting my face toward his, then slides both of his hands deep into my hair, holding me there under the scrutiny of his gaze as I wrap my hands around his wrists.

“God, Emma, you have no idea how many nights I dreamt of looking at you just like this,” he says, and for a moment, his smile seems lost—he seems worried.

“I’m yours,” I repeat, needing to reassure him.

His eyes fall closed and he brings his forehead to rest against mine, his lips grazing lightly on mine with his breath until he sucks my bottom lip in between his and I feel the scratch of his teeth as he lets go.

“I will be the man who deserves you. I will, Emma. I promise,” he says, his breaths shallow, almost panting. I nod
yes
, knowing he’ll keep good on any promise to me—knowing he already deserves me, and I’m the one who has work to do.

Andrew slowly presses his weight into me, laying me back in his bed as he crawls over me with the grace of a tiger, his tongue licking his bottom lip and his hazed eyes raking over me with desire. When my head hits his pillow, his body cages me completely, his hands cupping my face gently at first, then growing stronger as he leans my head to one side, giving his mouth access to my neck and shoulder.

The sensation of his tongue drawing a line down my body makes me arch my back, and Andrew seizes the opportunity to sweep one arm behind me to hold me up, my breasts firm and barely concealed by the thin undershirt I’m wearing. Andrew’s eyes find the hard peaks of my nipples quickly, and he bites through the fabric, his tongue soaking the material as he makes each of my breasts his, working them into painful submission through my clothes.

Lying me on my back again, he leans his head down and grabs the bottom of my undershirt with his teeth, and I hold my breath, bringing my knuckles to my mouth as he slowly drags the bottom of my shirt up and over my breasts. The cold air makes the ache in my nipples sweeter, but I’m also paralyzed over the display of my scar. My mark isn’t subtle—there’s no way around being cut open three times, and I notice the moment the evidence of my transplant hits Andrew’s eyes. His breathing is steady, and as much as his body is still in a lustful trance, he’s also seeing a glimpse of our past—of reasons why and excuses and selfish requests.

“Your father told me,” he breathes, his eyes never leaving my scar. I can’t tell if he’s afraid of it or disgusted by it, and I part my lips with a worried breath as he speaks. Just as the sound leaves me, his eyes close and he leans down, kissing the dark pink of the center of my scar, the deep line that draws nearly the length of where my ribs meet. “I went to see him, to find out
why
…” Andrew swallows, his lips dusting against my body as he speaks, his strong arms holding him above me. “I just needed answers—why you didn’t write, why they lied to you. He told me. And as much as I wish you were the one who told me, I also understand why you didn’t. You were afraid of dying, Emma. And your father was afraid of you dying, too. I…” Andrew’s voice breaks, and his eyes finally lift to mine. “I would have feared losing you, too. So I don’t blame him, Em…for keeping my letters from you, for lying about where I was, for telling you to forget about me. I don’t blame him. I would have done the same if I knew it meant you were safe.”

I swallow hard, willing my eyes to keep their hold on his, not to break. I feel like looking at him, bare and all of my secrets before him, is the ultimate show of trust—this is me giving him my heart. I won’t turn away, not now.

“I regret so much,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion.

“I know,” he says, his lips grazing mine as he breathes the words again. “I know. But I’m begging you…no more regrets.”

My eyes hold his a few seconds longer, and I nod
yes.
“No more regrets,” I repeat, as if reciting my pledge. My arms around his neck, I pull him to me, the warmth of his chest crushing against mine, igniting something deeper inside of us both. Andrew’s movements grow needier, his hands roaming my body more, gripping and clawing down my back as he kisses his way from my mouth down each of my breasts, sucking the peaks and pinching each between his teeth while I writhe beneath him.

He slides down my body, his lips pausing over my stomach, his mouth open and panting with a hungry need as he unhooks the button of my jeans and grips them around my waist, sliding them down my legs as he stands. My body shivers. He stands before me, slowly removing his jeans and boxers, letting himself spring free while I wait in nothing but my small, white cotton panties. I’ve never wanted to feel someone inside me more, to take someone completely, to give myself wholly. My legs part for him, and he groans, kneeling on the floor in front of me, and he slides his hands from the tips of my toes up the insides of each of my thighs, my core throbbing and my heart pounding.