“You alri’?” That little contraction, or whatever you call it when a word’s cut off, is nothing like the rest of him.
Except for that smile.
Yeah, well the smile was a fluke. The man is big and hard and a loner and that’s the way it should be. For both of us.
Only, I know that’s not true. I feel shame just thinking it, about him, at least. He’s no loner. He’s a man who’s been hurt and needs…something.
Whatever it is, I’m not the one to give it. I’m not the person to help or heal or be a part of any of it.
I can’t…I can’t…
“You’ve gone off someplace, haven’t you?” With a sigh, he slowly pulls out, leaving me empty and bereft, with a strong desire to cry.
And I don’t cry. Ever.
“Don’t do that, love. I’m not… It was just words, all right? Just words. I’m not trying to…” Now, the smile he gives me is sad and Ididthat. I am absolutely responsible for that look.
I hate myself for it.
“I’m good,” I lie, pushing up to sitting with a grimace.
“Shit. Was I too rough? I know I can be—”
“You were perfect.” I grab his arm and drag my hand down to clasp his. “I’m a little sore. I mean, you arehuge, mister.”
He groans and looks down at where his deflating cock’s still wearing the condom.
I shiver at the memory of his words.I want to fuck you bare. I want to feel your skin against mine, raw, real.
It’s too much. Not just horny, but somehow stark and human and real in a way that I can’t stand to think about.
Imagine baring yourself like that. No armor, no skin to protect you.
I glance away. “But I’m good. I feelgreat, actually.” As if to compound the lie, I grin hard and stretch my arms wide and wiggle my eyebrows at him. I’m a hairsbreadth from doing jazz hands when I realize I should probably rein it in.
Thankfully, he’s too busy tying off the condom to pay any attention to my theatrics. This also gives me a chance to hop to the floor and slip back into my robe. I open the trash for him and give him another fake, bright smile, wishing I felt light inside, instead of heavy.
Though the urge to watch him pull himself back together again is strong, I deny it. It seems wrong, suddenly, to enjoy any part of this, when it’s got to end. Ithasto. It shouldn’t have even started, this weird thing between us. Instead, I pick up the bottle of wine I started earlier tonight—what feels like a lifetime ago—and attempt to shove the too-wide cork back into the opening, without success.
“You seem…” I look up to catch him watching me, narrow-eyed and cautious. “Are you all right? You sure I didn’t—”
“I’m good, but I should, um…” God, why can’t I get this cork in? It came out, right? I should be able to shove the stupid thing back into the neck, which has somehow shrunk down to the size of a pinhole. I point a thumb toward the bedroom, not for one second letting myself picture him sprawled out in sleep or smiling at me from heavy-lidded morning eyes, his face lined from his pillow.Mypillow. I can’t have those things. Those are everyday things and I don’t do everyday. I slam at the cork, my palm skidding off. I can’t do everyday. If I do, I’ll—
“Jules.” He steps up, takes the bottle from me and, without apparent effort, tucks the cork inside. “Jules, love.”
I know it’s a common endearment, but the word singes my skin.
“Jules.” He stands in front of me and leans down to meet my eyes, his expression one of concern. “You all right?”
I swallow back an unwelcome rush of emotion and force another big, fake smile to my face. “Great. Thank you for, uh… That was nice.”
At his frown, I see that I’ve made a strategic error, but it’s too late. I’m on this path and I can’t stop myself.
“Nice?” He huffs out a sound of disbelief. “Nothing about that was nice. It was many things, but not nice. Remember what you said in the lift?”
“What I said?”
“That thing about how it felt fated to you? Us getting stuck together.Important. That’s the word you used.”
