His weight shifts, and I know he’s risen. I knew this would be too much for him. Why should he have to sit here and deal with this? He’s leaving anyway, and being here now isn’t going to make the resolution of this any better. He shouldn’t have come back in. He should have left me in my grief, lying on the floor alone. After all, that’s what he’s ultimately going to do.
When the sheet lifts off me, it’s like a splash of water on my face. When he climbs in beside me and pulls me toward him, it’s a comfort so conflicting, it almost gives me a headache. My mind tells me to push him away, overriding every other thought. I attempt to do it, placing my hands on his chest, but he pulls me toward him, wrapping his strong arms around me, and I don’t put up much more of a fight. He holds me tightly. I feel his heart beating rapidly, but when I look at him, his expression is calm. He stares past me, and I wonder if he’s in this moment with me. I don’t know if I want him to be, but I do know what I want.
I shift in his arms, and he looks down at me. I bring my lips to his, pressing against them, holding my breath as I do. When he pulls away, my heart drops, and I can’t face him. I quickly make a break from the bed, but he grabs my arm. He looks confused and conflicted, and it’s just making things worse. One thing that Cal has never denied me is his kiss, his touch, his body—they were all mine, and it’s breaking my spirit that he’s doing this now.
“I—I’m still going to have to leave.”
His voice is unyielding but soft, and it makes me melt. His grip on my wrist is gentle but firm enough to not allow me to run away, which was my absolute intention. I wish I could stop him from running away so easily. I replay his words in my head, trying to decipher the meaning, and in my clouded, emotional state I realize he’s trying to give me a choice. For once, he’s not trying to use sex as a bandage or as a means of control or manipulation. But I have to say his timing sucks.
I take a deep breath and command my voice to be steady. “I want to go to sleep.”
My voice is raspy and somewhat harsh. I clear my throat and wipe away any vulnerability and sincerity. I want him to know that him giving me his body wouldn’t be a knife stabbing through me, that this isn’t about trying to keep him here—but that I need this now. His guilt about it is not a priority to me now.
“Put me to sleep,” I say, sternly commanding my normal voice to return.
He raises his eyebrow, apparently skeptical. I can tell he’s surprised. Before he can say anything, I attack his lips, this time without hesitancy, with a swiftness I think catches him off guard and with a force I’m shocked I can muster, considering the state I’m in.
I climb on top of him, ensnaring his body between my legs, and wrap my arms tightly around his neck, kissing him with an urgency I’ve never felt before. He pulls away this time, trying to catch his breath. He takes my face in his hands, searching my expression, his eyes finding mine—the tables have turned, and he’s trying to figure out what it is I want. But I don’t have time for that. He’s trying to give me my last out, and I don’t want out. I want the one thing from him that makes me forget about everything else.
“What are you waiting on?” I ask, breaking the solemnness of this moment.
Before a second passes, he takes my lips, countering my hectic kisses and frantic need with a passionate patience that my fake bravado isn’t ready for, an unhurried desire that makes my stiffness melt away. His lips hold on to mine as though he’s trying to pull me into him. His hands slowly remove my clothes, but his pacing makes me feel vulnerable, almost innocent. The hard façade I’m trying to create is going to break, but I have to hold on to it. I break our embrace, snatch my shirt over my head, and reach to undo his pants, somehow successful even with my rapid, clumsy movements.
“Lauren!”
I ravish his lips to silence him, throwing all of my body weight on him, which causes us to momentarily fall back on the bed. I realize my pants are still on, and I swiftly shimmy out of them. When I try to climb on top of him again, he grabs my waist, stopping me. His eyes are downcast and his lips pressed tightly together—he’s upset, but right now, I don’t care. The confusion on his face is unexpected, but I don’t want to know what it’s about.
I need to be distracted. My lips find his once more, but again he pulls me into that slow, sensual kiss that almost broke me before. I pull away. I rest my eyes on his chest—I can’t look at him. I work up my nerve to try again, and I kiss him hard, biting his bottom lip. This time he breaks our kiss, and my eyes can’t leave his face fast enough. There’s a glimpse in his eyes of something I’ve never seen before, and I think I see hurt, possibly disappointment. It stabs through me, but the expression is brief. Soon, his familiar wicked grin covers what was just there. His fingers slide under the lacy material on my hip. He pulls it down, and I step out of it. Within a second, I’m on the bed, my arms above my head, trapped beneath his wrist. This is what I want. Lust—not love. Physicality—not intimacy.
He’s fucking me figuratively, and I want it literally. I don’t want to be made love to—that’s over. I can’t let him in that place. I won’t. I go to suck his neck, and he moves. His finger glides down my arm, and I try to ignore the tingling that jolts down my back at his touch. It’s something I’ll have to forget. He grips my hands, holds them together, then he takes my flimsy thong and ties it around my wrists. It’s tight, but I don’t say anything. I don’t want tenderness anyway. I want him inside me. I want to be exhausted, but mostly I want to forget. I want to forget this moment, that this could be or is good-bye.
When his lips find my neck, they stay there briefly before his tongue glides down to the crook of it, and he sucks on the skin midway. His path is slow and tortuous, and I shift to stop his trail. His fingers grasp my hair, forcing me to look at him, and I close my eyes. I won’t. I don’t want to see into him.
His lips are at my ear. “Open your eyes.”
His voice is deep and stern, but I ignore him. I can’t look at him. I bite my lips and squeeze my eyes shut tighter, and soon his tongue finds its way inside my ear. My body involuntarily arches toward him; it’s the place he knows makes me give him complete control. My eyes open. I pray that the tears welling up don’t escape them. I try to focus on the waves of lust going through my body and not on the fact that after all this, he’s going to be gone. That’s what I want to forget. I want to forget that I don’t want him to go. I feel his hardness pressing against me. It’s torture, and I’m growing inpatient. I want him inside.
“Now,” I demand, but it comes out more as begging, and I realize I’m helpless. I start to try to free my hands.
His lips leave my ear, travel down my neck, past my breasts, and when they reach my belly button, I freeze as his tongue swirls around it. This isn’t what I want. I know now where he’s going with this, and it isn’t what I wanted.
I try to move my body away from him, but he holds me in place as his lips trail lower and lower. I try to lock my legs together, but he easily holds them open and in place. His tongue traces the one part of my body I have absolutely no control over. I can’t help but cry out.
“Cal. Cal, stop,” I pant.