“How long has it been?” he mutters. His mouth hovers over mine. The exhale of his words cover my mouth in another form of a kiss. His leg doesn’t pause from the gentle nudging, causing the pulse to increase.
“I don’t even remember,” I whisper.
“You need this, princess.” For once, the endearment sounds special, almost worshipful. His lips press against mine as he speaks, as he tries to convince me I need this release. Only there’s no convincing necessary.
“Please don’t judge me,” I whisper so low, my voice cracks. My head tips back, and his leg moves in earnest. My fingertips dig into his biceps, gripping him like I can’t let go. The heat of me dry-humps his thigh.
“No judgment,” he groans before he slips a hand down the side of my body and hitches my leg up over his hip. “Keep this here,” he demands and slides his hand along my arm until his palm rests against mine.
“Hold my hand,” he commands. Our fingers fumble to curl together before his mouth returns to mine. My fingers clutch at his. My hips move at their own rhythmic pace, my center rubbing against the delicious thickness of his thigh. He’s up on an elbow, holding most of his weight off me while his fingers play with my hair spread out around my head. While doing all this, he never misses a beat at my core.
My free fingers reach for his hair, delving into his wild locks, marveling at the thickness of those curls. His hair is soft, and I twist a few strands near the nape of his neck in my fingers before I tug at them. He moans.
“Ella, I want to bury my fingers in you. I want to slide my tongue over your wet pussy. I want to dive into you and make you—”
“Eee-than,” I scream as my head tips up and my hips flex. The quick and intense rush leaves me breathless and still longing, yearning for all he just said. His mouth crashes mine, catching my cry as he rocks over me. His thickness near my hip works at the bone. I shift my leg, opening further so he can fall between both my thighs, so he can line himself up with my center, and we practice what I hope will inevitably happen with this man.
He’s going to have sex with me one day.
His lips meet the side of my face—the right side—and I freeze. My body goes still. The warmth of moments ago is lost to the cold in my veins.
“Ella?” His voice sounds as if he’s calling to me, but I’m underwater.
I’m underwater.
Then I’m gasping for air.
He isn’t hurting me, I tell myself.
“Ella, princess?” Ethan repeats. He stops everything. Moving. Kissing. Squeezing my fingers. “Fuck. I lost you, didn’t I? I pushed too far.”
“No.” I turn my face away from his, hiding the right side as liquid blurs my vision. “No, it’s me.”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, ashamed at the memory, ashamed at the fear. My hands come to his shoulders. I need him off me. I need space and air. He takes my cues, rolling off me and hopping to his feet. He takes a few steps to the opening, placing both his hands into his hair. He turns away from me, gazing out the open barn doors. We sit in a romantic place, with a beautiful view, and it’s been an incredible day.
And I had to ruin it.
My body still hums, but it’s a dying energy.
Ethan’s fingers slip to the back of his neck, and then he turns back to me.
“We should probably get going. The sun’s going down, and it’s going to get cold.” He leans forward without looking at me and roughly snaps up the bakery bag. Frustration vibrates off his body. I didn’t want him to stop touching me. He just startled me, but it’s too late to recapture the moment.
Emptying the cider cup, I replace it on the thermos. When I stand, Ethan yanks the quilt upward with one skilled tug and tosses it over his shoulder. He reaches out for my hand, but I pretend I need both of mine to carry the thermos. I quietly follow Ethan back to the SUV.
I’m irritated, although not at him. This is all me, and I hate that I’ve cut him off, confusing him by my sudden freak-out. I don’t know that I’ll ever feel normal again. Not normal on my skin, but inside, and it frustrates me as well. I liked kissing Ethan.
After Ethan opens my door, he waits until I’m seated and then hands me the donut bag. His quiet is unnerving. He circles the SUV and tosses the quilt behind his seat before stepping up to the driver’s spot. He starts the SUV and backs it up, kicking up gravel with the swift turn of the tires.
“It’s a beautiful barn,” I say, looking at it reflected in the side mirror. I don’t know why I say what I say next, but my heart hurts. “I bet all the girls love it here.”
Ethan slams the brakes, and I jolt forward against the seat belt. His wrist dangles over the steering wheel as he shifts his body so he can face me. Eyes filled with hurt stare at me. “I’ve never brought anyone here before,” he states, his voice low and straining as though he’s fighting conflicting emotions. “This place is special to me, and I chose to share it with you.”
My heart stops beating.
“Ella.” He exhales, shifting to look out the windshield. “It’s okay. I get it. I’m not upset, but before you say something that really could upset me, do you mind not saying anything?”
I should be insulted. I should rant and rave and bitch at him for telling me to stay quiet, but the edge to his voice warns of his dying patience. I’ve gone too far again.
+ + +
When we get home, Ethan doesn’t look at me.
“I’ll make dinner around six,” he says over his shoulder, not meeting my eyes in any manner. It’s his warning, like a code. He’ll be in the kitchen, so I know not to enter. When he disappears into his room, I race up the stairs to my own. I tell myself not to fall apart. I did this.
I asked him to kiss me, and he did.
I warned him it had been a while, and he still took me over the edge.
But when his mouth hit my skin, I don’t know what happened, and then I had to ruin it with my comment.
Stepping into my bathroom, I head for the tub. Leaving it to fill, the steam coats the walls and fogs the windows. I quickly undress and examine myself in the mirror. Some of the makeup on my face has rubbed off. Three shaky fingers trace down the claw marks.
He could have killed me, but that wasn’t his intent.
“I’ll make you mine,” he said. He wanted me to look like this so no one else would have me.
Whoever he was didn’t count on a man across the country, deep in the woods, who still found me beautiful. Who still kissed me. Who kissed me right over those scars.
I’m the one who destroyed that moment.
Entering the tub, I slip as deep as I can, allowing emotion to overtake me and the tears to fall.
An hour later, I’m drained of everything, but I enter the kitchen to find Ethan preparing a meal.
“Can I show you something?” I ask, hoping to offer him an olive branch and pray he takes it.
“Sure.” His brow arches as he takes in my appearance. I’m wearing my old thick robe with my hair tucked up in a bun. Ethan wears sweats and a tight rock band tee. His own hair is slicked back from a shower. The curls are still damp.
He turns off the stovetop and wipes his hands on a towel that he then tosses on the counter. He follows me up the stairs to my room. We pause inside the room, and I try to envision the layout through Ethan’s eyes. A large four-post bed with gauzy drapes near the headboard and four lush pillows. The bed is parallel to the window so I can lay on my side and gaze out at the lake. With floor-to-ceiling windows, the view is spectacular. The bathroom is behind us. Ethan’s gaze travels over the sewing machine and wire-mesh mannequins set up near a corner of the room.