Page 42 of All In

When he’s in nothing more than his briefs, he shimmies up the bed, grunting and groaning like he might die, then he drops his head onto the pillow with one last dramatic groan and looks at me. “I’m changed.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’d call that changed. You’re nearly naked.”

He waves a hand through the air. “Semantics.”

Fuck it. I strip down to my boxers, then crawl in next to him. As soon as I do, he scoots closer to me, and I rest my hand on the bare skin of his stomach.

The warmth of it under my palm is mesmerizing, and instead of rubbing like I promised, I spend a minute running my fingers over his soft skin. He squirms a little when I touch his belly button. “Ticklish,” he mumbles.

I glance up at him, and he’s got his eyes closed, his head tilted back on the pillow, his hair fanned out like a golden halo. Fucking radiant.

“Sorry,” I murmur back before resuming my exploration of his skin. I’ve never been able to touch him like this before, and while it shouldn’t seem like a novel experience considering all the ways I have touched him over the years, it feels like one.

Harlow sighs. “You’re not really rubbing, but it feels good anyway.”

I still my fingers for a second before starting up again, making mindless patterns on his skin, moving them in small circles, dragging them up toward his chest, and then back down, closer to his waistband.

“Mmm, that’s the stuff right there.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You’re acting like you’re dying or something.”

“Death by tacos. Might be a good way to go.”

At first, it’s nothing. Just my fingertips running across his skin, but after a while, every time they drift lower, Harlow’s breath catches. For a second, I’m not even sure I’m hearing it right, so I do it again to see if I get the same reaction.

I do. A soft hitch in his breath and a slight tensing of his muscles.

Looking up at him, I watch his face. His eyes are still closed, his face relaxed and mouth slightly parted. There’s a new flush on his cheeks. One I’m finding that I like the look of quite a bit. For some reason, it seems to bring out his freckles even more.

I want to kiss them. I have since we were kids. I didn’t understand it back then. Not really. I just wanted to be close to Harlow in any way that I could, and then, as we got older, it changed. Each of his freckles called to me, and I wanted to kiss them one by one. Wanted to see if they felt different from the rest of his skin under my lips.

There’s nothing stopping me. I could. He’d probably even like it. But it’s one thing for Harlow to initiate something or ask for it, like in the elevator. It feels wrong to do it on my own. Like I’m taking advantage, like I’m taking something that doesn’t really belong to me.

“You’re staring,” Harlow breathes, and I lift my eyes to his.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words are out of my mouth before I even have time to think about them. And Harlow’s eyes widen. Part of me wants to take them back, but I won’t. I’ve been holding them in for long enough. I don’t want to do it anymore.

“You really think so?” Harlow asks softly.

My chest aches at the question. I must have thought those words a thousand times over the years.

“Of course,” I whisper, pressing my palm flat against his stomach before dragging it up slowly until it’s resting just below his ribs. “You have the most adorable freckles, and when you blush or your cheeks are flushed, they stand out even more. And right now? You look soft and cozy and maybe a little sleepy. Your hair is a mess and your cheeks are rosy.” I’m probably saying too much, giving too much away, but I feel like telling him he was beautiful opened me up, and I can’t stop myself. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

His blue eyes stay fixed on mine for a second, and then his lips turn down a little. “You’ve always thought that?”

I nod. “Always.”

His eyes fall closed, and I feel suddenly terrified that I’ve cracked something open between us that can’t be closed again. My heart pounds incessantly against my ribs, my stomach flipping nervously.

“Will you kiss me?” Harlow asks without even opening his eyes, and I don’t know if it’s the vulnerability in his tone or the years of holding myself back, but I lean forward without even the slightest bit of hesitation.

His lips are warm and soft, and after a press of mine to them, I pull back. Harlow’s eyes are still closed, and I lean in again, this time bypassing his lips, and drop a soft kiss to the bridge of his nose, then to his left cheek, before moving to the right side.

I know there’s no possible way I could kiss each individual freckle on his face, but this is the closest I’ve ever come.

After one more quick kiss on his lips, I shift, then lie down on my back and pull him into my arms. He comes willingly, pressing himself against me. His skin warms mine, and he lays his head on my chest, then lets his hand rest in front of his face.