“Say my name,” he demands. “Say my fucking name when you come. I need to see it on your lips.”
My eyes start rolling back as he keeps his pace, his piercing scraping against me in the best way possible. “T-Thomas. I’m going to—”
“Come,” he commands, and it’s like that’s all my body needs to let go.
To free my mind. Free my body. Free all those ill feelings woven around my soul that have been that way for over a decade.
Right now, it’s Thomas and me.
It’s two people who bear heavy secrets.
I may not know nearly as many as his as he does mine, but I can see them in his eyes. The demons that hold them back. All the reasons he lets the world rip him apart.
Just like I just did.
I judged him.
Used him for my benefit.
Forthis.
I’m no better than the people who are quick to assume who he is, when it’s obvious that there is so much more to Thomas Moskins than a pretty face and ruthless scowl. So much more than he allows people to believe.
It’s sad, and that sadness and guilt slowly begin to creep their way back in until he asks, “Are you on the pill?”
His cock is still sliding inside me, and I can see the urgency in his eyes as he scans my face.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Thank fuck,” he replies like it’s a prayer. “I need to come in you. I need you to fucking feel me, Winter. I need—”
I lock my legs around him and meet his eyes, not looking away. “Please” is the only thing I have to say before ecstasy takes over his face, and he pumps forward one more time and fills me.
The softness on his face, the warmth he radiates, isn’t what I expect at all. He cups my face, his hand gentle, his eyes a calm sea after a wild storm, and…smiles.
But the smile disappears, wavering once like he’s trying to hold on to the moment but realizing he can’t.
He pulls out, as slow and careful as possible, before moving away from me. His silence soaks into me, thickening the air around us. I don’t know what to say as I lie on the couch, letting the cool air caress my naked, sated body.
I watch as he disappears around the corner and listen to the water run. Then I see him come back with a washcloth, and confusion pinches my brows.
“What are you—?” I stop short when he makes quick work of cleaning me up. I suck in a breath as he brushes me, but his expression is blank. Lacking the lust that’s been there this whole time.
I hurt him.
“Thomas,” I whisper, putting my hand on his forearm to try to get his attention.
He won’t look up at me, but I see the way his teeth grind to hold back what he’s thinking.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, voice hoarse.
His eyes close, and I feel the muscles in his forearm flex. Then he withdraws, the washcloth with blood and cum on it disappearing with him down the hall to my tiny bathroom.
When he comes back, he collects his clothes and changes without saying another word.
“Thomas,” I repeat, voice weak.
He heads to the door, hesitating with his hand around the doorknob. “I’m sorry for what Ashton’s brother did to your parents. And I am sorry for how deeply you’re hurt. I know what that’s like.”
