by Noelle Adams
He kissed her again, his tongue thrusting into her mouth like it was making love to her as he pushed hard against her clit again. Her body wouldn’t stop responding to him. She moaned shamelessly into his mouth. It went on for several minutes until Carol was boneless and exhausted.
He was hard again now, and she watched hungrily as he put on another condom and positioned himself between her legs.
“You ready for me again?” he asked thickly.
“Oh yeah,” she rasped. “I want you so much.”
He slid into her, positioning her body so she was wrapping her legs around his hips. Then he rocked into her slowly, rhythmically, making her moan and gasp. He kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him against her tightly.
It went on for a long time like that, the two of them kissing and rocking together, as close as two people could be, connected in every way.
When she finally felt another orgasm building deeply inside her, she arched up and rolled her hips.
He groaned into her mouth and sped up his thrusting.
Their motion became faster and more eager, but they still didn’t stop kissing. Until she was coming apart beneath him, crying out against his lips.
He moaned too, his thrusts becoming jerky again as he let go of his control. He came just after she did, and they collapsed together in a tangle of hot flesh and wrinkled clothes.
Carol finally felt sated. Completely sated. And like she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
She was vaguely aware of Patrick pulling off her to take care of the condom, but then he collapsed on top of her again.
She liked his heat and his weight. She liked everything about his relaxed body. She held it close to her.
She didn’t ever want to let him go.
***
Patrick slept deeply. More deeply than he’d slept for weeks.
His body was perfectly satisfied after finding its release in Carol, and the several glasses of wine he’d drunk pushed him over the edge.
He slept on the couch with her for hours, and he would have kept sleeping if he hadn’t become aware of her trying to get up.
He mumbled as consciousness started pushing its way into his relaxed brain. They’d moved in the night so he was on his side and Carol was trapped between his body and the back of the couch. He hugged her against him as he felt her trying to get up.
She was warm and soft and curvy and Carol. She was perfect, except she insisted on moving.
“Patrick, please.” Something about the strain in her voice pierced into his grogginess. He blinked a few times and then opened his eyes for real.
She was trying to sit up.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, forcing himself to move, to give her room. “Sorry. You all right?”
“Yeah. Just trapped. I need to go to the bathroom.”
When he got into a sitting position, Carol scrambled off the couch and hurried to the bathroom. She still wore the clothes from yesterday evening.
So did he. He was sweating in the wrinkled suit.
He had a little bit of a headache, and he really needed to drink water. A lot of water. But he didn’t have the energy to stand up yet.
When Carol came out of the bathroom, she went to his refrigerator and returned with two bottles of water. She handed him one as she sat down.
He accepted it gratefully, swallowing down about a third of it before he could make his voice work. “How are you?”
“Fine.” She’d taken several gulps of water too. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t looking at him. She was staring down at the floor.
He tried to remember what he’d been thinking last night. He’d had a whole speech planned out about how he was crazy about her, how he’d been wrong to doubt her feelings, how he wanted to be with her and no one else in the world.
Instead, he’d kissed her, and she’d responded exactly as he’d wanted.
But he’d never actually got the words said.
Now by the morning light and the lingering headache from the night before, the words felt too earnest, too unnatural.
She didn’t want to hear that from him.
No one wanted to hear that from him.
He needed to say something less intense, less overwhelming.
“I…” His voice broke on the first word.
She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face.
“I… We’re really good together.” That was better than nothing. It was true. And it didn’t feel like it was going to rip his heart out.
She nodded and shifted her eyes back to the floor. “I know.”
“I’d… I’d like this to continue.” He gulped down some more water. He wasn’t used to talking like this, and he hated it. He was terrible at it. “I… I was wrong before, about… There’s no pressure or anything. We could just… see what happens.”
He saw her breathing deepen, accelerate, and her eyes turned back to his face. She stared at him blankly. “That’s what you wanted to say?”
He nodded.
“You want to… just see what happens?” Something was strange about her voice, but his head was too fuzzy to work it out.
He nodded again.
He saw her swallow hard. Then take another gulp of water. Then she screwed on the top and set the water bottle down very carefully on the floor. She stood up.
Confused, Patrick stood up too. “Carol? What’s going on?”
She gave him a look that was almost cool. “That doesn’t work for me.”
“What doesn’t… work?” He suddenly could see what was happening. She was rejecting him. She didn’t want him after all.
“This.” She made a gesture between her body and his. “It doesn’t work for me. I’m sorry. But I’m not going to have sex with you again. Don’t make a move on me anymore. I mean it.”
He stared at her blindly, and he saw she did mean it.
She wanted to end it.
He hadn’t even told her everything—he hadn’t told her how crazy he was about her, how much she was everything he’d ever wanted—and she still didn’t want to give them a chance again.
He couldn’t really move, but he managed to incline his head. “Okay.”
Something strange flashed across her face before it disappeared in her controlled composure. “Okay.” She stiffened her back and leaned over to slip on her heels. “I’ll see you later today—at the wedding.”
“Okay.” He didn’t know what else to say, and he wasn’t capable of saying anything else either.
She was acting like this was normal—that she would have ripped his heart out of his chest like this.
Like last night had just been a drunken grope on the couch instead of what it had really been.
He felt like he’d been run over by a truck, but he managed to stay on his feet until she picked up her purse and walked out of his apartment.
Then his knees buckled and he collapsed on the couch.
He’d lost her. Completely. Forever.
And he didn’t even know why.
Nine
Several hours later, Carol was trying to keep smiling as she and Ginny watched as a stylist did Emma’s hair in a pretty updo.
She felt sick and exhausted and depressed—and guilty because she couldn’t enjoy Emma’s wedding day as much as she should.
She tried.
She really did.
She tried to put Patrick out of her mind so she could focus on Emma.
But she still felt sick to her stomach with heavy, aching eyes.
Replaying the events of last night in her mind only made them worse.
It had felt so good with Patrick—so right—so much of what she wanted. But if he wasn’t serious about her, then she couldn’t take the risk. It was already hard enough to keep her heart intact. She couldn’t let herself get crushed any more than she already had.
He’d said he wanted to just see what happened between them—without any sort of certainty or commitment. And she couldn’t do that. Maybe it prove
d she was unreasonable and not cut out for modern dating, but she had to be true to herself, to who she really was.
And she needed more from Patrick then just a vague expression of interest if she was going to go any further.
She couldn’t do casual. Not with Patrick anyway.
Emma was reviewing her to-do list for the day—for the third or fourth time. Carol understood. She’d be the same way herself if she were getting married in a few hours. But she had trouble paying attention and not letting her mind drift to Patrick.
She was a terrible friend.
It was Emma’s wedding day.
It wasn’t Carol’s time to be sad.
“What’s the matter?” Emma asked, pausing in her list of things they had to remember to do.
Carol stiffened when she realized Emma’s question had been directed at her. “What? Nothing. Nothing.”
Emma frowned. “Are you lying to me? On my wedding day?”
“It’s really nothing.” Carol forced a smile, and she thought it was mostly natural.
“You said nothing happened with Patrick,” Ginny said, searching Carol’s face in the same way Emma was. “But something did happen. Didn’t it?”
Carol had tried to brush off their questions earlier by making it seem like the conversation wasn’t as serious as she’d thought, and she’d thought they’d initially bought it.
But they weren’t buying it now.
“You’re about to cry,” Emma said.
“No, I’m not.” Despite her words, Carol felt her eyes burning, and she sniffed to hold on to her composure.
“Carol.” Ginny’s voice held an edge of warning.
“It’s nothing! It’s Emma’s wedding day. I’m fine. I’m happy!”
Emma let out a sigh that sounded almost resigned. “What did Patrick do?”
“Nothing!” Carol was flustered and upset and emotional and exhausted, and she’d never been any good at lying, even in her best condition. “I mean, the truth is, I thought for a while that maybe… maybe he… But nothing happened. I’m a little disappointed, I guess. But nothing has changed. He’s just never… never going to want what I want.”
It was a garbled, stilted answer with nothing but vague allusions, but her friends seemed to understand it anyway.
Ginny reached out a comforting hand to place on Carol’s arm. “I’m really sorry.”
Emma’s was still frowning, and now she was shaking her head. “What did he say?”
Carol couldn’t go into details or she would burst into tears, and she just wasn’t going to do that on the wedding day of one of her two best friends. So she sniffed again and pressed her lips together. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want me the way I want him, and I’m going to have to accept it.”
Emma didn’t say anything, but she still didn’t look happy.
Carol let out a frustrated exclamation. “Now see! I’ve messed things up on your wedding day.”
“You haven’t messed anything up,” Ginny said quickly.
“It feels like I have. So can we please just drop this subject and concentrate on Emma?”
To her relief, the others did as she said, although she suspected the subject wasn’t completely forgotten.
***
At two o’clock in the afternoon, Patrick was wearing a tuxedo and wishing he wasn’t.
Obviously, he had to wear a tux if he was going to be one of Noah’s groomsmen, but he was hot and uncomfortable and tired of acting like everything was fine.
It wasn’t fine. It was terrible. It felt like the air around him was closing in, suffocating him, reminding him that he’d lost Carol forever.
But he couldn’t rip off his clothes and hide in a dark room. He had to get through this wedding and try to act like a real friend and a good brother.
He, Ryan, and Noah were all dressed and ready and hanging around in a hallway of the old church until it was time to start taking the photographs. The women were still in the dressing room getting ready.
It felt like they’d been getting dressed forever.
He hadn’t seen Carol yet today, but he knew he would soon. He was going to have to pose for a bunch of wedding party photos with her. Then he was going to have to watch her walk down the aisle. Then he was going to have stand across from her at the front of the church and recess out beside her.
It was going to be hell. Nothing but hell.
He closed his eyes and took deep breaths and prayed he could get through this.
“Hey,” Ryan said. “What’s up with you?”
Patrick opened his eyes. “Nothing.”
“You look sick or something.”
“I’m not sick.”
Noah was standing up, pacing restlessly from window to window. He didn’t look scared. He looked excited. Like he was anxious to get on with this so he could finally get married.
Patrick imagined he might feel similarly if he were about to get married to Carol.
Then he realized that was the last thing he should be thinking.
“What the hell, man?” Noah said, having turned to look at Patrick. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Seriously,” Noah said. “Have you looked that bad all day?”
“Yeah,” Ryan replied. “He has. You’ve just been too out of it to notice.”
They were about to interrogate him. Patrick could see it on their faces. They were about to demand he tell them what was wrong, and he’d either have to lie or avoid their questions. So he almost groaned with relief when Ginny appeared around the corner, looking gorgeous in a dark red dress, heels, and fancy hair.
“Look at you,” Ryan said, eyeing his fiancée appreciatively.
Ginny gave him a little smile, but then her eyes focused on Patrick. “You,” she said.
He blinked. “Me what?”
“Emma wants to talk to you.”
“What?”
“Are you deaf? Emma wants to talk to you. She’s your sister, and she’s already in her dress, so she can’t come out here. So you need to come to her.”
Patrick hauled himself to his feet, confused but a bit relieved at the reprieve from his friends’ interrogation. “All right.”
He followed her down the hall and in through the door to the dressing room. To his relief, it was empty except for Emma, and Ginny stayed in the hall, closing the door behind her.
“You look great,” Patrick said, looking at her in her long white dress with pretty lace and simple lines.
She was frowning at him. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
“What subject?” He was genuinely confused. She was glaring at him like he’d done something wrong.
“What the hell did you say to Carol?” she demanded.
Patrick froze. “Wh—” He couldn’t complete even the one word.
“How could you possibly mess this up so much? I thought you were going to fix it!”
He clenched his hands at his side. “I… tried.”
She assumed this was his fault, when it was Carol who had stomped on his heart.
“You tried? You tried? This is what you’re telling me on my wedding day, when Carol has been about to cry all day? You tried? Well, I’m telling you right now. Try harder.”
Patrick was still trying to find words to explain—and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Carol had been about to cry—when there was a knock on the door.
“Now get out of here,” Emma told him, pushing him toward the door. “And remember that this is my wedding day and you don’t get to mess it all up by being clueless.”
Patrick was baffled, disoriented, his emotions in an uproar, as he left the dressing room and went back to find Noah and Ryan.
They didn’t have time to ask him any questions because Ginny was calling them over for wedding party pictures. They’d do Noah and the groomsmen. Then the groomsmen and the bridesmaids. Then the bridesmaids with Emma.
The bride and groom pictures as well as the full weddin
g party would have to wait until after the wedding, so Noah wouldn’t see Emma too soon.
Patrick went through the motions in the groomsmen pictures, hoping that his misery and confusion at the moment wouldn’t be documented forever in a photograph. When Carol and Ginny arrived, Patrick tried not to stare. But Carol looked gorgeous in a dark red dress like Ginny wore with a long soft skirt and a low neckline, her hair pulled back in a thick bun on the nape of her neck.
Her skin looked a little too pale beneath her makeup, and she wouldn’t look at him.
She was upset with him.
Upset with him.
He could see that immediately.
When she was the one who had broken his heart.
There was a lot of laughter and chatter from the others, but he didn’t say a word, and he stood stiffly through the different poses, even the one where he had to put his arm around Carol’s waist.
There was a break while Noah was shuffled out to another room and Emma came in. The first thing she did was meet his eyes and give him a significant look and a nod toward Carol.
He knew exactly what she was telling him. He was supposed to talk to Carol.
He had no idea what to say, but it was his sister’s wedding day.
And he didn’t like the idea that Carol was upset.
The world wasn’t right if Carol was upset.
So he steeled himself, and in the confusion, he put a hand on Carol’s back and walked her into the hallway.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“We need to talk.” His voice was so hoarse it sounded rough.
She scowled at him. “We do not need to talk. We have nothing to say to each other.”
“I think we do.” He had no idea why, but her obvious annoyance was firing him up. She was angry with him. With him. When she had stomped his heart into the mud.
“Well, I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you we don’t. I don’t care if you think I’m some marshmallow who’s here to worship at your feet.”
“Worship… at my… feet.” He was almost gaping at her, trying to understand what she was saying.
“You don’t get to treat me that way. You don’t get to screw me when you feel like it and then just string me along with some half-assed suggestion of being casual.”
