Wasted Words by Staci Hart

Tyler frowned a little at me. “When’s your flight?”

My smile turned into a smirk. “I got on your flight coming home, thanks to your mom.”

She smiled at us over her shoulder. “I might have done some covert luggage digging for the information.”

He laughed. “Now I’m glad I brought my receipts with me for both flights.”

Mrs. Knight sighed. “I’m gonna miss you. This trip was a blur.”

I felt a little guilty. “That’s my fault.”

She waved her spatula at me. “Don’t be silly. Tyler wasn’t going to be home much whether you were here or not. At least yesterday we got to spend the day together. Will you two come back for Thanksgiving?”

He looked at me hopefully, and I smiled. “I’d be happy to. Maybe we could go to Walnut too and see my parents. It’s only an hour and a half away.”

“That’ll sure make the holidays easier,” she said with a laugh, as if she knew we’d be spending holidays together for the foreseeable future, as if it were the only natural course of action, and I hoped she was right.

We ate our breakfast and packed our bags, Tyler’s dad making it just in time to see us off, as promised. We all embraced with the promise to see each other at Thanksgiving, which made the goodbyes easier. And then we climbed into Tyler’s rental car and drove away, waving until we pulled out of the gate.

I sighed and sat back in my seat, and he reached for my hand, smiling at me, our fingers entwined for the entire ride.

On the plane, he lifted the armrest between us and tucked my legs in his lap as we read our books. He’d pause on occasion to talk to me about it, read a passage to me with my head resting on his shoulder. I did the same with Mists of Avalon, convincing him to read it too, undaunted by the fact that it was near nine hundred pages long.

New York was just as it had been when I’d left the morning before, but I felt lighter, happier than I’d imagined I could. Like he was the antidote to my crazy, somehow normalizing me, lightening the load of my burden.

By the time we got home, the sun was setting, and we walked in the door, heading straight for our rooms to dump our things. He met me in my room and flopped down on my bed, and I did the same, giggling.

He propped his head on his hand and laid a hand on my hip, sliding me closer to him. I slipped my leg between his.

“I liked seeing you in my hometown,” he said, smiling.

“I liked being in your hometown. I loved your family when I met them last time they were in New York, but now I don’t know if they’ll ever get rid of me.”

He laughed. “I don’t know if you’ll ever get rid of them. Or me, for that matter.”

My heart fluttered. “Well, the feeling is mutual.”

His face grew more serious, and he brushed my hair from my face, smoothing it to cup the back of my head gently. “What if you get scared again?”

“Then I’ll talk to you, and you’ll tell me you love me, and I’ll be fine.”

“No more running?”

“No more running away. Only toward.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” I searched his face, touched his cheek. “Now I’ve made you afraid.”

“No, not afraid for me. Afraid for you. I don’t want you to hurt, Cam. Especially because of me.”

“You never hurt me. I hurt myself. But I have faith. I have to, because being without you isn’t what I want. I need you, Tyler.”

He closed his eyes and turned his face to kiss my palm. I leaned into him, pulling him down to kiss me, his lips brushing against mine gently at first, then deeper, his tongue sweeping my bottom lip. I parted them, letting him in, letting go. Giving him all of me.

His hands were in my hair, our bodies pressed together as we came as close as we could. But I wanted to be closer. I wanted all of him.

My hands found the hem of his shirt and slipped under to the hot, soft skin of his abs. They didn’t stop, moving up his body, feeling the ridges and valleys of his chest. He broke away from the kiss long enough to strip his shirt off and toss it before his lips pressed against mine again.

I felt so small as he pulled me close, so delicate under his hands that stroked my chin and neck, my arm and hip, as careful as he was firm with me. He was tender and demanding all at once, pulling off my shirt, unhooking my bra with the snap of his fingers, and then they were gone.

His hands — they were so strong and somehow soft as he stroked my breast reverently, thumbing my nipple, bending to place his lips around it, circling his tongue until my eyes refused to stay open. He pinned me against him with a single hand on my back, the other around my breast, and my hips rolled, looking for his, wanting the connection my body ached for.

He moved down my body, the loss of his hot mouth on my breast instant, the cool air hitting it, tightening it just when I thought I couldn’t feel anything more exquisite. His hands deftly unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off, moving with certainty that made me feel helpless — I couldn’t move, my body surrendered — and powerful — he couldn’t stop, desiring me so much, his hands trembling with need. There was no ceremony in removing my panties, and I needed none. I only needed him.

He settled in between my legs, kissing my thigh, touching me softly, opening me, filling me, sucking — my head fell to the side, unable to keep my eyes open at the relief of him touching me like my body was his. He broke away, and my lids cracked to see him moving for the bed stand. I watched him roll the condom on, his big hands stroking the long length of him, his body in shadows, the curve of his shoulders and chest, the ridges of his abs, the V that led from his hips and down.