Beneath

14 TOUCH ME

NOAH

I can't stop looking at her. The damp ends of her hair curling against her jaw, the sweatshirt sleeves pushed to her elbows, and her breath a little quick from all this touch. I might not survive her. I'll unravel.

And now she's touching me.

Cam's warm fingers slip beneath the waistband and wrap around me. On the first stroke of her hand, I shudder.

Her hand squeezes just enough to get my teeth clenching. I can see a hint of pink on her cheeks, a blush. So pretty. So fucking pretty. I'm going to come embarrassingly fast if she keeps looking at me like that.

She pulls her fist down, dragging a groan from the bottom of my soul. My eyelids flutter shut, breaths razing through my lips. The callouses on her palms scrape. It's so perfect I have to hold her. So my hands find her hips, slipping under the fabric of her hoodie. It's so much I have to press the back of my head against the cold wall when my vision whites out. The ice bath could not help me now.

Her lips brush my chest, a hesitant feather, and it's worse than if she devoured me whole.

She looks up at me, eyes dark, wide, and so damn open—like she's handing me the key to something precious I'm not worthy of. She's never really kissed anyone. She's never been touched. She's never touched anyone. And here I am, letting her wrap her hand around me like it's a baby step when it's a leap off a cliff.

This is not what's supposed to be happening.

"Camila," I groan, my voice rough. And it's a warning.

Her movements falter. "Yeah?"

"Stop," I gasp out, my eyes blinking open in a haze. "Stop."

She's gone in a blink, arms wrapped around her torso. And there it is—all the vulnerability and gleaming softness in her eyes that was hiding under a coach's exterior.

I lift my head, blinking away a blur. "You didn't do anything wrong, I swear. You're perfect. You're everything. But we can't just—"

"I'm going to get my stuff. You can wait outside while I lock up."

She's walking out of the steamy room the next second.

Fuck.

She touched me like I was worth something and I still panicked. What the hell is wrong with me?

I move around the place, lost, trying to gather my stuff, finding a random sweater to slip on. I head out the front doors. Outside, I sit with my back against the front windows in the dark, gripping my hair. Eventually, Cam emerges, a silhouette fortified by layers—two hoodies now, her armour against the cold. Against me.

She locks the front door of Fire Base. The click echoes.

Then she flips up her hood and starts walking. I get off the ground and follow. The silence between us is horrible. Every instinct in me wants to close the distance.

The city sleeps around us, a subdued lullaby of a few cars, a few people, a few lights in the night. Her breath forms clouds in the air as she hugs herself tighter against the cold. Stray damp curls at her temple frost in the night air. As her house looms down the street, she slows to a stop. Finally turning to face me, her expression is hard.

She pushes off her hood. "If it's me, just tell me. I can take it."

She thinks I don't want her. She thinks she did something wrong, but she didn't—I did.

"That's not it," I start. "I don't want to rush—"

"I felt good, Noah. Like I could finally..." She grips the strap across her chest. "I just wanted to feel normal. When I was touching you, I felt that."