by Celeste, B.
“The way I see it,” I say slowly, “the only thing you have that truly matters is a marriage certificate to a woman you don’t even love. I’d like to think the Corbin I knew back then wouldn’t have sacrificed that much for an image he can’t even change if he wanted to.”
This time, he doesn’t answer.
My fingertips dig into his cotton shirt, bunching it as I clench a fistful in my hands. “I have been in failed relationship after failed relationship because I’ve never been able to get over you. I’ve had to see pictures of you on magazines in stores holding your wife’s hand and kissing her and hugging her while I buy food for one because guys realize I’m not worth the complication. I’ve let myself down for loving you and the worst part is…”
Don’t say it.
“I can’t seem to stop.” I choke out the last word through the tears that trail down my cheek.
His throat bobs as he brushes them away, his own eyes looking nothing like the bright silver the world is used to admiring. The dark tones are pits of agony that I know are reflections of my own.
Then … it happens.
The years of separation.
Of anger.
Of heartache.
Everything that’s left me buried in work just so I don’t have to think about the boy who left me behind comes crashing down.
The lips on mine are familiar yet foreign, soft but hard, searching and needing. He leans into me until our bodies are pressed together and a satisfying weight settles on top of me as his mouth and teeth and tongue bring me back to a time when we fumbled and laughed and worked our way through every kiss. He wasn’t a virgin when we met and knowing that back then killed me a little. Sabrina Christy was a name I’d have engraved in my head when he admitted she was his first—some old classmate at the last school he was in. I envied her ability to have something I couldn’t while he took the very same thing from me when I offered it.
And now his experience is obvious. Corbin Callum knows what he’s doing. My bet is he’s had plenty of practice since the days of fumbling with bra hooks and cursing at leggings.
I want to hate him for it—for having so much experience when the amount of men I’ve let in my life since him is so minimal. Yet, I can’t find myself to feel anything other than desire and yearning and guilt, all wrapped up into one.
His tongue tastes and twists with mine, and I drink him in every time he angles his head for a deeper kiss. My arms wrap around his neck as my pelvis arches into his until I feel something deliciously hard brush against my inner thigh.
“Fuck,” he curses, moving his lips down my neck and his hands down my body. I’m panting and writhing and wanting and hating myself more and more by the second.
The heat gathering between my thighs becomes so intense that I’m afraid I’ll combust right here on the spot. It outweighs the reason that screams at me to stop before I make a huge mistake. I do what I’ve never done before. I guide his hand down my stomach until he’s cupping me where I need him most.
The groan he awards me with comes with the slightest twitch of hardness that I know is trapped uncomfortably in his jeans. But he doesn’t move to undo the button and zipper like I want him to. Instead, he reaches for the waistband of my leggings and pulls them down until they rest just above my knees.
His eyes flare. “You’re not wearing any panties.”
Slightly embarrassed but too turned on to really care, I just shake my head and dig my fingernails into his arms.
“I’ve got you, Little Bird.”
I’m not sure what he means until his head dips down and his mouth covers the most sensitive part of me. My hips jerk up as he licks and sucks the bundle of nerves before sliding his tongue down the length of my slit and tasting me from bottom to top.
“C-Corbin.” My grip on him has to hurt, maybe even draw blood, but I don’t care. He keeps working me with his mouth until his tongue pierces my opening and moves in and out while his nose brushes my clit in a torturous rhythm.
My legs widen as far as they can with my leggings still wrapped around my knees, giving him more access to sink into me. Shakily, my fingers weave into his hair and pull as I start feeling a familiar tingling in the pit of my stomach as my movements become jerky.
Mentally, I tell myself to stop enjoying it. Internally, I scream to end this moment between us before it goes too far. But my brain and heart want two different things, and I can’t stop the battle inside my body. I’m at war with my morals and have nowhere to go.
I torture myself for staying away.
I torture myself for keeping him close.
I’m trapped between right and wrong.
“That feels so good.” I cover my face with the crook of my arm and moan out his name as he focuses on my clit again while using a finger to get me off quicker.
Stop this, my inner voice demands.
But I ignore her.
My legs tighten around his head as I come, my moans becoming incoherent and breathy. He keeps sucking me until my body goes completely still from the numbness of an intense orgasm I haven’t felt in far too long.
Closing my eyes, I catch my breath and try not to think about the sound of his zipper moving down and the ruffling of denim shifting against perfect skin.
“Please,” he whispers. “I need you.”
When I look at him, his eyes are wide and glazed over with lust and something else. Something I told myself is impossible to see in eyes like his.
Love.
And, for a moment, I wonder if the reason I haven’t been able to let go is because I’m not supposed to. Like maybe this is meant to be something worth fighting for no matter the circumstances. But how far would I have to go?
My head slowly nods as his hands go back to my leggings to peel them off the rest of the way. I help him shed his shirt, then take off mine, until there’s limited clothing separating us. The tented front of his boxer briefs have me itching to reach out and touch him, but he shakes his head like he knows what I want.
I’ve always remembered our first time, and the times after, no matter who I was with. The first man I let into my bed following Corbin had to deal with my breakdown following the sex that left him redressing in record time before making an excuse to leave.
“You’re gorgeous,” he tells me, kissing me while lining himself up at my center. The taste of me on his lips shows how much we’ve changed. No longer does he hesitate but dominates. He knows how to work my body and give me everything I’m too afraid to ask for.
I suck in a breath as he enters me inch by inch, his lips teasing mine as he stretches me out.
My lids flutter closed as he nips my chin, my jaw, and my neck as his hands move to grip my hips. His fingernails dig into my bare skin as his pace picks up.
“Do you remember this?” he asks, licking an area on my neck where he bit. He changes angles that hits me deeper, harder, and faster. “I remember. I couldn’t keep my fucking hands off you then. You’ve always been so beautiful.”
Tears well that I can’t explain. I kiss him as a distraction from the feelings weighing down my chest, holding onto him as his hips drive into me in a way he never used to before.
Burying my face in his neck, I brush kisses along his collarbone and moan as he hits me in just the right spot. Eyes rolling in the back of my head, I hold onto him tighter. My gaze meets two little marks that I never thought I’d see again. Tracing the lines on his pec, I remember the very first time he showed me what he’d done. The tattoo was still red and puffy then, but I’d touched him just as I did now. He told me the lines represented us, two entities equal to each other. But I could tell just by looking into his eyes that there was more to the story—something he wasn’t willing to share. And like always, I let him have his secret.
I begin saying something when his phone starts ringing. He ignores it, grabbing onto my hips and grazing my ass to pump harder into me. When I try moving to see who’s calling, he kisses me with everything in him. It’s how I
know whose name is lighting up his screen.
“Corbin—”
“Don’t,” he pleads, his cock hardening in me as he lays me back down and fucks me harder.
Because that’s what this is.
Fucking.
Screwing.
Nothing more.
The tears that well now make their way down my cheeks as he buries his face in my neck and thrusts a few more times before reaching between us and playing with my clit.
“Don’t,” I tell him, stopping his hand.
He sits up on his arms and slows his movements, brows pinching. “Kinley…”
“Just finish.”
“Kinley—”
“Just fucking come, Corbin!” I hiss, grabbing onto his shoulders and kissing him with a ferocity that has him stunned as he begins moving again.
Harder and harder and harder.
Until—
“Fuck.” He pulls out just as he comes, hot stickiness hitting the inside of my leg while I stare at how his chest rises and falls.
His phone starts ringing again.
I dare to look. Because I hate myself. Because I need to punish myself like Beck does.
Swallowing, I say, “You should probably answer that.”
Sitting up, I grab his discarded shirt from the floor and wipe myself off before collecting my clothes that are scattered everywhere.
“Kinley,” he whispers, not picking up the cell that so blatantly displays Lena’s name.
I wave it off. “It’s not like I didn’t know.”
And that’s the problem.
Because I’d do it again.
Chapter Fifteen
Kinley / 16
Midweek I’m huddled up in the library with my new favorite notebook in front of me. My hand is grasping a test with a big red letter circled on the top that I’m not accustomed to seeing. Setting it down next to the story I’ve been writing in Earth Science, I realize there shouldn’t be any surprise as to why I failed.
When a familiar pair of fancy sneakers comes into view, I look up at Zach just as he sits down next to me. His eyes go to my exam. “Shit.” He winces and sits back. “I didn’t do well either in that class. Surprised you’re struggling. The way Corbin talks…”
I blow out a breath and shove the test inside my notebook before closing it. “Corbin gives me too much credit. Anyway, how are you two? Have things been okay?”
My eyes scan over the faded shiner. He and Corbin got into a fight over a week ago. When I heard about it from some girl in the hall, I confronted Corbin and asked if it was true. He hadn’t shown up at my house to help me study the day it happened, and the puffy nature of his knuckles told me why.
I learned quickly that boy fights are nothing like girl ones. Apparently, Zach made a comment about Corbin’s role in the school play. The rehearsals have been almost every day since Christmas break ended because the first show is set to premiere right before Valentine’s Day. When Corbin admitted he’d hit Zach for giving him crap about it, I didn’t believe him. But Zach didn’t confirm or deny anything when I asked him.
“Yeah, Kin. We’re good,” Zach muses, throwing one foot up on the tiny table between us. “So, what’s the deal with the test?”
Biting down on my inner cheek, I give him a limp shrug. “I haven’t been paying attention, it’s my fault.”
He watches me for a second before pulling his water bottle out from the side of his bag next to him. “Is that why you’re sulking in here? Pretty sure Corbin was looking for you.”
Everyone knows that Corbin and I are joined at the hip. Ever since the sort-of kiss on Christmas Eve, things have been strange. Neither of us have brought it up when we hangout, but we find ourselves holding hands or using each other as pillows during movies or study sessions. It’s like we decided silently to pursue something without any conversation.
“What are you doing here?” I ask skeptically. Zach already told me he isn’t a fan of books, which led to me jokingly tell him we couldn’t be friends. Given he’s still around, he didn’t take the threat seriously.
He stuffs the bottle between his thigh and the side of the chair. “I was over by the computers playing games when I saw you moping.”
“I’m not moping!”
He tilts his head and raises his brows.
I sigh. “Okay, maybe a little. I never fail anything. I’ve always done well in school, but I can’t blame anyone but myself. I never even studied for this stupid exam.”
“So, study next time,” he states simply.
Realistically, it is as easy as that. All it takes is an hour a day the week leading up to an exam to get the material down. I’ve done it plenty of times before, but now my focus is on anything but school.
Despite that, I say, “You’re right,” and study the oncoming students walking to the side exit. Their jokes and giggles make me smile and miss Corbin. It’s a weird feeling to miss someone you see often, and I’m not sure I like it. When I wake up, I think about him. Before bed, I think about him. It’s easy to channel that when I’m writing about Ryker and Beck because I want them to be realistic—conflicted and confused and happy and awkward. It seems to be exactly what Corbin and I are. Like we want to be something more but don’t know how.
Zach tosses a balled-up piece of paper at me, but it bounces off my knee and lands on the floor. “You going to the game tomorrow night?”
The muffled snort that comes out of my mouth makes him laugh. “Uh, no. You remember how I said sports aren’t my thing like reading isn’t yours?”
His puppy dog look is better than any other I’ve seen, but it still doesn’t work. “You won’t even come to support your favorite player? Come on, Kinley, don’t do me like that.”
“She won’t be doing you at all, Russo,” a new voice says coolly from behind my chair.
Turning, I see Corbin staring at me. I wiggle my fingers at him. “Hey. I figured I’d see you later.”
Corbin’s eyes go to Zach and something flashes in them, but before I can ask what, he glances back at me with a blank expression. “A few people said they saw you here. Figured I’d bring you lunch since you skipped again.”
“I didn’t skip…” In fact, I can still taste the peanut butter from the sandwich I’d eaten in the computer lab. I almost got yelled at by the teacher who’s a stickler about eating by the computers but hauled butt out of there before he could even open his mouth.
Corbin’s hand goes to my shoulder, squeezing it once. “What are you guys talking about anyway?”
“She won’t come to the game.”
Corbin probably rolls his eyes, but I’m not really paying attention. “You’d have better luck asking her to give up sugar.”
My nose scrunches. “Not true.”
Zach smiles. “You’ll come then?”
“Nope.”
He frowns.
Corbin laughs and let’s go of me. “She’ll be busy, Russo.”
Now I do meet his eyes. “I will?”
His nod is terse. “I was going to ask you to run lines with me. Figured we’d talk about it on the way home.”
Part of me perks up, but another notices the weird pinch to his lips. Collecting my things, I stand up and give Zach a small smile. “I’ll consider going to a game … eventually.”
The friendly jock smirks. “Before I graduate?”
“Eh…” I try to look like I’m really contemplating it, then stick my tongue out at him. “We’ll see.”
He waves me off with an amused grin, with Corbin hot on my heels as we leave the library. “You know he likes you, right?”
I scrunch my nose. “What? Who?”
Corbin glares. “Who do you think?”
I shake my head, moving hair out of my face that keeps falling into my eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Zach and I are friends.”
He grumbles something under his breath that I can’t quite make out. “You down for running lines tomorrow? I think I have most of them memorized but wouldn’t mi
nd somebody to go through them with me before the audition. My coach found another one to practice for too. The auditions are on the same day.”
My hand instantly goes to his wrist. “I’d love to help you! What is it for?”
“Commercial,” he evades.
When he doesn’t make a move to explain, my mind tries figuring out if I’ve seen any ads in the paper. Nothing comes to mind, so I jab his side to try getting something out of him.
“Is it embarrassing?” I laugh at the prospects that has him blushing right now. “Oh my God, it is! Are you representing a new hemorrhoid cream? Is it for an STD?”
He groans loudly and pushes me gently away from him. “Would you quit it? It isn’t for anything like that. I just don’t want to jinx it.”
“I’ll find out tomorrow,” I remind him.
“Good,” is all he replies with.
Frowning, we walk the rest of the way to our lockers in silence. It gives me a chance to think about what he said earlier. Zach doesn’t like me as anything more than a friend. Right? We tease each other a lot, but so do Corbin and me. It isn’t that out of the ordinary.
Shoulders dropping, I loosen a sigh. “Do you really think Zach likes me? Like … likes me likes me. Because I don’t get that vibe from him. Unless he said something to you…”
I lean against the locker next to his as he digs through his bag for who knows what. “Is that what you want?”
His tone is dry as he side eyes me.
“For him to like me? I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” he murmurs, slamming his locker closed.
We stand face to face, him looking like he’s about to bust a vein in his head. “What’s your deal? It’s not like I said I want to date him. I just want to know why you think that.”
“It’s…” His nostrils twitch. “He just looks at you like he does, okay? I’m a dude, I know this shit. So, do you?”
Did I miss the question?
He sees the confusion on my face. “I know you’re not that familiar with guys liking you, but—”
“What is that supposed to mean?” It isn’t like he’s wrong, but his tone is making it sound like nobody could ever possibly like me as more than a friend.
