“Do you feel how hard I am for you?” he asks between nibbles.
“Yes,” I mewl. I’m aching to have him sink deep into me, but I know I’m on Jason’s schedule.
I don’t know how I managed to sleep with him on the other side of my wall and not come over. I don’t know how I accepted a job, knowing damn well, his bar kept him stationary. But, I did. As he pins my hands above my head, and looks deep into my eyes with a deep passion he’s never displayed before, I wonder if I’ll be crushed by my decision to leave.
“How do you want it, Bree?” His question pulls me out of my dilemma.
“How?”
“Yes. Do you want it gentle, slow, hard, or do you want me to brand your pussy, so that every time you move, you’ll remember what I did to you for days to come?”
I’m so awash with emotions that I don’t have a preference. I want Jason any way he’s willing to give.
“I want what you want.”
His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Give it to me the way you want me to have it.”
Jason’s mouth covers mine as his left hand pins my hands above me and the right cups my head with his thumb resting on my cheek.
Retreating from the kiss, he continues gazing into my soul. He doesn’t break eye contact as he enters me. Clenching his jaw, he continues to move inside of me, while watching my face. Jason slightly shudders on the next thrust; he drops his forehead to mine.
“You feel so damn good, Bree.”
His tone rips something inside of me. A tear escapes as I wrap my legs around his waist. He kisses my lips as he continues to deliver slow, deliberate strokes.
“I’m going to miss you,” he confesses softly.
My heart expands with the hope that he cares beyond sex and football games.
“Ask me,” my words are almost a plea.
I wait, hoping he’ll ask me to stay.
“No.”
The word crushes my spirit.
“Jason—”
He slams into me before I can argue, setting the branding pace he’d mentioned before. I know what he’s doing, fucking me into silence, until I fall apart in his arms. My body loves it, but my heart screams. Saying goodbye will hurt too much.
I don’t fall asleep as I watch him rest, until the sun comes up. Sliding out of bed, I quietly dress and leave him after one last look.
21
Jason
It’s the weekend before Valentine’s Day, and my mood is still as equally as dark as it was when I’d awakened that morning to find her missing. I absently rub my chest: it still hurts like a bitch. She didn’t tell me ‘goodbye,’ and she hasn’t really spoken to me since. All I had was a text telling me she landed. She didn’t respond to my reply, and she hasn’t answered the few times I’d called her at random times, on random days, in a nonspecific interval. I got the message fast. Bree is done with me, even if I’m not done with her.
I almost throw my phone when I get another text reminder of the Valentine’s Day dinner reservation from the fancy steak house across the street. It’s tonight, but my heart isn’t here. I’m in love with someone who doesn’t want anything to do with me. Friends my ass. I don’t know if this was her plan all along, or if I’d done something to make her not want to even answer my call.
Like many times before, that night replays in my head as my brain pick it apart play-by-play. I couldn’t be selfish and ask her to stay. I didn’t want her missing an amazing opportunity because of me. She already misses her parents; I couldn’t bear knowing I’m taking her away from important research. It still doesn’t stop my parents from frowning at me when I visit. They’re upset that I let ‘the one’ get away.
“I told you, asshole,” Lars greets me as he sits at the bar. “You’re at work, when you don’t need to be, zoning out because you lost part of your soul.”
“I couldn’t ask her to stay, Lars.”
