by Leisa Rayven
He puts a hand against the wall; head low, breath fast. He looks like he’s in pain, but I know better. I stop long enough to work his jeans and underwear over his hips, and then I maneuver him back against the wall so I can kiss a line down his chest. When I reach his abs, he starts cursing. When I take him in my mouth, he’s not even forming words anymore.
If I had the power, I’d have him always feel like this. Loved and worshipped. I’d melt away his doubts and insecurities with soft suction. Brush away his fears with reverent touches and low, appreciative moans.
Before long, he’s gripping my hair and pulling me away. Then he’s kissing me with renewed passion. He pulls off his boots and socks. I kiss his back, his shoulder, his bicep. He comes back to my mouth, and I pull off his jeans and underwear. He’s barely kicked them away before he’s sliding my panties down.
We’re suddenly on the floor and I push him down so I can taste every inch of warm, sweet-smelling skin. Every tense muscle and delicious groove. As I’m working on his chest, I’m vaguely aware of him pulling his wallet from his jeans and rolling on a condom.
When he’s done, he pushes me onto my back and settles between my legs. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the intensity of him like this. Naked and glorious. He towers over me with eyes that are somehow black but also full of fire. He studies my face as he braces on one arm, his broad shoulders tense, and then I feel him, pressing forward.
Oh. The sweet, ecstatic pressure.
I look at him in awe. There’s a slow, intense filling, so different to the first time we did this. There’s still some discomfort as my inexperienced flesh gets used to being stretched by him, but there’s none of the previous resistance. No pain. Just the incredible miracle of one body joining with another.
With a few gentle thrusts, he’s inside, and oh, God, I’m not big enough for the inferno of feelings he ignites in me.
His mouth is open. Eyes heavy and blinking.
How can he possibly think we can’t work when we’re like this? This is bigger than fear. More important than doubt.
He starts to move, slowly at first, his jaw clenched in determination. Then his need takes over and he gains momentum. Every thrust brings him deeper. I clutch at his shoulders, and watch his face as it morphs through different layers of pleasure. He’s magnificent.
He tangles his hands in my hair. Kisses my chest. Sucks my neck. Through it all, he’s moving. Long slides that make me quake and gasp. Heat crawls up my neck as pleasure spins inside me. When he increases his pace, I know I’m making embarrassing sounds, but I can’t stop. He’s too much.
When I can’t stand it any longer, I look at the ceiling. It swims and sways. I give up and close my eyes. Lift my hips to meet him. Grip his lower back and urge him on.
Adrenaline courses through me as I walk a tightrope of sensation, and when he reaches between us and presses his fingers in tight circles, I’m gone. Falling and flying, and giving plaintive voice to the heavy pulses that overtake me.
I’m still spinning when he lets out a long moan. He bucks and presses in as far as he can, then he slows and eventually stops. By then, we’re not even two people anymore; just one orgasmic, panting mass, clinging to each other with trembling limbs.
Incredible. What more could two people want from each other?
I let out a deep sigh.
Ethan’s body is heavy against me, his face pressed into my neck. I run my fingers through his hair and try to get enough oxygen.
“I love you, Ethan Holt,” I say, soft and breathy. “No matter how tough things get, just remember that, okay?”
He tenses for a second, and just when I think my heart is going to bottom out from him not saying it back, he exhales. “I love you, too.”
For the rest of the night, we don’t talk. We make love, time and again. In the shower, in the kitchen, on the sofa, and finally, in my bed.
When exhaustion finally takes us, I curl into his side and rest my head over his heart.
I love him and he loves me. Whatever internal dilemma he’s going through can’t compete with that.
Tomorrow, we’ll find a way to make it right, because that’s what couples who love each other do.
I go to sleep with Ethan’s heartbeat in my ear, and his arm around me.
*
The next morning, light bleeds through my eyelids and I’m dimly aware of birds singing in the trees outside. I smile as I register the warm body beside me.
The first time we slept together, he left before I woke. This time, he stayed.
I breathe in his scent and run my hand over his chest and stomach. He’s warm, and it seems so decadent to feel the length of his naked body pressed against mine. This amount of man should be illegal. He feels too good.
Just being beside him arouses me, and I contemplate which sexual positions we could try this morning. There are so many new things I want him to teach me.
As I snuggle into his chest and sigh in contentment, I realize Ethan’s heartbeat is fast. Too fast.
I open my eyes to find he’s awake. Staring, stony-faced, at the ceiling.
A rush of heat crawls across my skin. “Hey.”
He blinks and turns to me. “Hey.”
His posture is stiff. Alarmingly so. The arm that held me close last night now lies straight out from his body, barely touching me at all.
I sit up. “What’s wrong?”
He blinks a few times, jaw tense. “I have to go.”
Before I can protest, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, grabs his underwear, and pulls them on.
“What? Ethan . . . ?”
“I need to go home and pack before heading back to New York for the holidays,” he says, not looking at me. “Plus, I have to go see Erika about what extra credit I need to do over the Christmas break to make up for flunking this term’s acting class. Merry fucking Christmas to me.”
He pulls on his jeans and buckles his belt before going in search of his shirt.
“Well, I could come with you. Back to your place, I mean. After you pack, we could get breakfast. My flight home isn’t until this afternoon.”
“No.” He disappears into the hallway and sickening knots form in my stomach. I sit and pull the sheet up to my chest as he reappears, buttoning his shirt.
“You don’t want me to come with you?”
He sits on the bed and grabs his boots and socks, not even sparing me a glance as he pulls them on and laces the boots. His movements are tense. He looks angry, and I don’t know why. Doesn’t he remember last night?
“Ethan, talk to me.”
He finishes tying his shoes and stares at the floor. His jaw tightens as he takes a deep breath.
“Cassie.” He sighs. “We can’t do this. I thought that maybe—” He squeezes his eyes shut. “We just can’t.”
“No,” I say, my panic rising. “Don’t start with that crap again. We can. We did last night. Do you even remember how amazing it was? How incredible we are together?”
He turns to look at me. “Last night was a mistake.”
I freeze. His words hang in the air like a toxic cloud. Something inside me cracks and ruptures.
He can’t be saying this. He felt it. How could he not? It wasn’t just sex. We made love. Many times.
“A . . . a mistake?”
For a moment I see pain flicker across his face, then it’s gone.
“Last night was . . .” He shakes his head. “Yesterday, I flunked acting because I couldn’t open up in a stupid mask exercise. But that shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you because you’ve been asking me to open up for freaking months, and I failed at that, too.” He looks over his shoulder but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m not capable of being a proper boyfriend. We both know it. Last night doesn’t change anything.”
My cheeks burn with anger. �
�You proved how you feel about me all night long. We said we loved each other, for God’s sake! It changes everything!”
His eyes fill with tears. “Yeah, well, sometimes love doesn’t magically fix things. I shouldn’t have allowed us to go as far as we did. We’re never going to work.”
I’ve felt this coming, but I still can’t believe he’s doing it. “This is ridiculous! You think we can’t work, so that’s it? Game over?!”
He pushes off the bed and spins around to face me. “Yes! Because I know I’m too fucking screwed up to be in a relationship right now. Any relationship. I will hurt you, Cassie! I’ve done it to others, and I’ll do it to you. Have you forgotten there’s a girl lying in a fucking hospital bed right now thanks to me? Because I sure as hell haven’t. Every time I picture Olivia half-dead on that gurney, all I can think is that could be you. It will be you unless I get the hell out of this relationship.”
“Ethan, no.”
“Yes, Cassie. I’m no good for you. I never have been. I’m demanding and moody and jealous as all hell, and as much as I hate being like this, it’s who I am. Don’t you think I’ve tried to be different? The past few weeks I’ve fought all of my natural reactions to be the boyfriend you deserve, but it was all fake. Don’t even pretend you haven’t noticed.”
“Of course I’ve noticed, but I didn’t know what to do, because you never talk to me!”
He throws up his hands. “That’s because what I’m feeling is usually petty and fucking illogical! I see you dancing with Avery, and I can’t stop wondering how long it’s going to be before you fuck him. You’re ten minutes late, and I think you’ve finally decided I’m not good enough for you and have left me.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I know! That’s the problem! Yet I can’t help thinking it. I don’t trust you, even though you’ve done nothing to make me doubt you.” He exhales. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life I regret. Treated people badly. Taken out my issues on others. I feel myself doing it to you, and I can’t fucking stand it. You don’t deserve someone like me, and I sure as hell don’t deserve someone like you. Just accept it and get on with your life. That’s what I’m going to try to do.”
I can feel my blood simmering beneath my skin.
I grip the sheet so hard it hurts. “Are you even listening to what you’re saying?”
“Cassie—”
I slap the bed in frustration, hating the hot tears which slide down my cheeks. “I love you, you ass! How on earth is breaking my heart protecting me?!”
He stares at me with a pained expression for a few seconds, and I think he’s going to take me in his arms and comfort me. When he doesn’t, the knife piercing my ribs twists a little more.
Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor, and every angle of him screams self-loathing and unshed tears.
“Cassie,” he says, “if I don’t do this now, I know that in three months’ time, I’ll have ruined both of us, and you’ll hate me forever. Or worse. At least if I end it now maybe there’s a chance we could still be . . . friends.”
“Friends?” My breath hitches, and I hate it. Fat, ugly tears fall, and I hate them more. Despite everything we mean to each other, everything we’ve shared, he’s actually doing this. “Am I just supposed to forget how I feel about you?” I say, quiet and bitter. “Or how you feel about me? We both know we’ll never be friends, Ethan. Ever.”
Incredulity heats my face as we stare at each other. My chest is tight, and my throat is sore. Still, I can’t stop myself from leaning forward and touching his arm. “Don’t do this.”
I know I’m begging but I don’t care. He loves me. There’s nothing he can do or say that will make it untrue.
“It’s already done.” He steps away from me, and his breathing is uneven as he stares at the floor. “I have to go.”
He turns and crosses the room, and all my seams pull apart, flooding me with gut-churning pain. I hug myself, and try to hold it together.
“I love you,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
He freezes with his back to me, shoulders tense. Silence smothers the room, screaming like thunder in my ears. My heart curls in on itself when I realize he’s not going to say it back.
He turns his head. “Goodbye, Cassie.” His voice is quiet, but he might as well have yelled. “I’ll see you in the new year.”
He strides out of my bedroom and down the hallway, and I swear I hear him groan as he opens the front door.
There’s a long pause; long enough for me to think he’s changed his mind, but then the front door slams behind him, and any chance I had of holding myself together shatters into a million pieces.
The first sob is so painful, I think I’ve injured myself. The second is no better. Then, all I am is pain, and tears, and wrongness, and when I press my face into my pillow, all I can smell is the man responsible for it.
NINE
FLOODGATES
Present Day
New York City, New York
The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor
“Hey,” he says, and brushes hair away from my face. He’s trying to soothe me. “Cassie, it’s okay.”
“You hurt me. Broke me.”
“I wish I could take it back, but I can’t.”
“Is this how you used to feel? Angry? Out of control? I hate it.”
He cradles my face. “I know. And it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” He strokes my back. I shove him away. He pauses for a second, then steps forward to put his arms around me once more, patiently riding out my frustration. I push him again, and my face is hot with too many emotions to identify. I want to punish him.
He knows. He recognizes himself in what I’ve become.
“Do it,” he says. “Hit me if you want. Yell. Do it, Cassie. You need to.”
I’m choking on emotion. I try to swallow, but it refuses to be suppressed any longer. I groan as the floodgates open, and hot tears spill down my cheeks as I slap at his chest.
I slap him again, three, four times, swearing and sobbing, and he stands there and takes it, all the while whispering that he loves me.
“I’m so sorry, Cassie. I’m not going to hurt you anymore, I promise.”
I cry harder as I grasp at him, purging the rage, all the pain he caused, all the time he wasted.
I let out years of venom until I have nothing left. No fuel for my fire. No bitter voice telling me he’s not worth it.
At last, all I have left is exhaustion. Then his arms are around me, and he supports me as my legs buckle.
He just holds me, murmuring that everything’s going to be all right. That we’ll be all right.
I’m too tired to fight anymore. Too lonely.
Too much in love with him.
When my cheeks begin to dry, I hug him back and let myself believe him, just a bit.
I don’t know how long we’ve been standing here, but neither one of us wants the moment to end.
After a while, he loosens his grip. I guess he realizes I’m not going to run.
He kisses the top of my head, then my forehead, then my temple. He cups my face and kisses my cheek, and every touch makes me shiver. The soft brush of his lips tingles down my limbs and collects in my stomach, lighting up places that have been dark for too long.
Everything else fades into the background. His heart pounds fast against my breasts as he holds me close and kisses my neck.
“Cassie . . .”
The way he says my name is like a groan of frustration and a sigh of relief. An apology. A promise.
He rubs his thumbs over my cheeks as he slowly leans down and presses his lips to mine. I inhale as my pulse doubles, pounding blood filling tense muscles. Making me want so much more than I’m ready for.
He pulls back and leans h
is forehead on mine, eyes closed. “One more chance is all I need to prove how different we can be, Cassie. Please. I know second chances are hard to come by and here I am asking for a third, but . . . fuck, I need you. And despite everything, you need me, too. Just say ‘Yes’. Please.”
I beg my panic to stand down. “After my outburst, are you sure you still want this mess of insecurity dressed up like a woman?”
He lifts my chin and searches my eyes. “Cassie, I can safely say I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you. Even if you tell me ‘No’, that’s not going to change.”
I sigh. Trust him to say exactly the right thing to melt me. “Well, okay then, I guess we’ll give this one more try.”
His answering smile is dazzling.
“But,” I say, “I’m not going to lie and say it will be easy. I’ll need some time, so we need to go slow, okay?”
He exhales. “Okay. No problem.”
Then he draws me to him and kisses me in a way that’s in a different universe to slow.
I pull back, breathless. “Ethan . . .”
“Slow. Yeah, I know. Right after I do this.” He takes my face and kisses me, unashamedly desperate. In a blur of mouths and desperate I need you noises, he walks me backwards, guiding me to the wall opposite the doorway I was blocking a little while ago. Then my back is against it, and his body is warm and hard as he presses into me.
I can’t catch my breath. He’s everywhere, pressing and tasting. Reclaiming what’s always been his.
“God, Cassie . . . Thank you for this. For you.”
He stops kissing and wraps around me, panting and grateful, and I bury myself into him, my face in his neck.
We just stand there for a while. Breathing each other in.
Still not fixed but far less broken.
TEN
THIS TOO SHALL PASS
Six Years Earlier
Somewhere Over Middle America
For my whole life I’ve heard people throw around the term heartache, but I never truly understood what it meant until now. I mean, how is it possible that an emotion, something that has no mass or form except what we give it, is able to wrap around our hearts like a python and squeeze until every valve and chamber aches? Until the blood itself, which has no feeling at all, pulls barbed wire through our arteries with every beat? It shouldn’t be possible.
