True and pure desire, a response to being wanted by this gorgeous man. I take Ryan’s face in my hands and pull his mouth to mine. The moment our lips touch, sparks ignite within me and I can’t stop myself. My tongue invades his mouth, desperate and needy.
Responding instantly to my touch, Ryan’s hand cups my breast and his hot warm mouth on my skin sends a burning sensation throughout my body. I feel like I’m on fire. His tongue and lips are slow and deliberate as he continues to taste me and swear I think I’m going to come from the intensity of it all.
I love the feeling of his warm skin, his smell, the way his mouth explores my body, right now I love everything about him, yet when I speak, I still feel like my words are laced with a lie.
“Ryan,” I moan, my voice raspy. “I need you.”
Without words, he enters me and his slow assault continues, leaving my chest heaving and breathing coming hard and fast.
There’s something about his slow, sensual movements that pushes me over the edge. He’s gentle and there’s a kindness to him that my body needs and responds to. My hips meet his and as he cradles my face in his hands, I can feel something between us change. This is different than all the other times we’ve had sex. It’s so much more than it has ever been and I realize that maybe I just needed to let him in to feel again.
Chapter Nineteen: Elliot
One Year Later
It’s been a year since Bridgitte’s accident and I’d like to say we resolved our issues, but that’s not exactly what happened. She stayed with me for a month while she recovered and there were times when things seemed completely normal. She’d cook dinner and we’d eat and talk about our day, we’d sleep in the same bed and have sex, but as much as I wanted things to be okay I knew they’d never go back to the way they were.
I lied to her for all that time and she still felt the betrayal. When her doctor released her to return to work, that was the same day she left me. I knew it was coming but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like fucking hell. She will always be a better person than me, because she forgave me and we still remain friends. Not the kind that see each other on a regular basis, but the kind who occasionally text each other something funny or send an email saying a mutual friend had a baby or whatever. It’s simple and normal, but I still miss the shit out of her.
Bridgitte said something to me when she left, something that resonated and still does.
“Elliot, I love you and I always will, but you’re holding onto something I can never give you. If finding Nora will make you happy, then you need to find her.”
I wanted to argue with her, tell her that she’s what I fucking want, but again, I know that wasn’t entirely true. I hate that thoughts of Nora still pull at me from the back of my mind. She’s always there despite wanting to forget her.
I worked late today and although it’s after nine, I’m just sitting down to eat dinner still dressed in my suit, my tie loose at my neck and my shoes kicked off at the end of the couch. I switch on the TV and begin to mindlessly flip through channels.
My job has taken over my life in the last few months, becoming busier each day, but a part of me doesn’t mind because it makes me forget. It focuses my attention on other things and for a few minutes out of every day, I forget how majorly I fucked up.
Yet there’s still a part of me that longs for the life I left in San Diego, the one at nineteen, that I couldn’t wait to get away from. It was a simpler life, easy and quiet, a life that contained Nora even if it was for just a split second.
The buzzer to my unit goes off and I ignore it. I’m not expecting anyone and if the doorman hasn’t acknowledged the person, then clearly I don’t know who it is. A few seconds later my phone lights up with a text.
Bridgitte: I’m downstairs. Can you let me in?
Without responding to her text, I press the buzzer letting her in.
It’s been months since Bridgitte and I last spoke, let alone texted each other. The last conversation we had was through an email regarding a box of pictures she thought she left at my place. It was quick and to the point, and when I found the box, I had my office courier it over to her. I have no idea why she would be here now. She generally doesn’t just show up. We aren’t those kinds of friends.
I open the door to my unit, waiting for her to come up the stairs. I’m disheveled and exhausted, and a part of me isn’t certain I want to know why she’s here. It’s been a long ass day.
She smiles at me when she comes into view, rounding the top of the stairs and stopping in front of my door. While she has a smile on her face, it’s not genuine, something about it is forced and she looks uncomfortable.
The smile drops and she chews her bottom lip for a second as she digs in the bag she has slung over her shoulder.
“Can I come in?” she asks, her head down as she continues to rifle through her bag.
“Sure,” I respond, stepping to the side so she can walk in. “Everything okay?” I ask, still wondering why she’s here. She’s still dressed in her work clothes and her heels click as she walks across the wood floor, coming to rest a few feet from the door. She doesn’t sit down and she doesn’t look at me right away.
“Bridgitte? What’s going on?” I ask, this time more firmly. It almost feels like she’s dragging it out to make me concerned, like she wants me to worry. I think we’re beyond this. I’ve apologized for what happened in the past with her accident and Nora, and as far as I know, she’s moved on. If she’s come here to rub it in more, she can get the fuck out.
She’s still looking in her fucking bag and I’m about to lose my shit. It feels like she’s been here for hours and has said nothing. A second later she pulls a book from her bag and hands it to me, but when she looks up, her eyes are filled with tears.
“This is for you,” she says, a weak smile on her lips. She tucks her hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath as I watch a tear fall down her cheek.
“A book?” I question, taking it from her outstretched hand.
“It’s your book,” she says with a sniffle as she tries to compose herself. I have no idea what she’s talking about and clearly the look on my face says I’m clueless because she adds, “It’s Nora’s book. Nora wrote it about you, about both of you.” It all comes out in a rush, as if saying it quickly will end the torn feeling I imagine she’s dealing with right now.
I turn the book over and read the back cover, and Bridgitte is right. From the first line, it’s our story, Nora’s and mine. I’m suddenly overcome with a sick feeling. My heart is racing, my hands grow clammy and for a second I think I’m going to fucking vomit on the floor. I’ve waited for this moment for so long, just to know her name and here it is in front of me, but this is not the way I expected it to go down. Bridgitte is the last person I want to share this with. It’s what ruined us. It couldn’t be more fucking awkward as Bridgitte stands here watching me take in the book.
“Elliot,” she says quietly as she looks down at the floor. I don’t even know how to respond and judging by her lack of response now, she feels the same way.