It feels like he’s in a different mood than he usually is, and I don’t think it’s a good move to test him. I slide my baggy sweats down my legs with my panties, unceremoniously throwing them to the side. My tank top follows, and I’m glad I had committed myself to a lazy night, so I don’t have to contend with a bra right now.
When I look back up, Oakley is shoving his pants and boxers down his legs, having already taken his shirt and shoes off. The man is a piece of art, I swear. The artwork on his arm, mixed with the dusting of hair on his chest, does it for me.
As he crawls onto the bed like a man possessed, I spread my legs to make room for him. He’s definitely quieter than normal, but it’s honestly hot as fuck, so I’m not about to disrupt the tension he’s built. He grabs one of my wrists, pulling it to the side to grab the other, then slams them above my head. His chest rubs against mine, and the friction sends arousal surging down my body.
He licks up my neck before biting at the spot between it and my shoulder. A whimper leaves me as my hips thrust up. His other hand shoves my hips down to the bed before moving to reach to the side. He rips open a condom with his teeth. I didn’t even see him toss it on the bed, but I’m glad for the forethought. Briefly letting go of my hands to roll the condom on properly, they return with a strength that has me melting under his touch.
His dominance undoes me. The way I can completely let go with him is beyond euphoria. It’s a power I never knew I had, and I love it.
His fingers trail down, circling my clit once before dipping down and pushing inside of me. He must like what he feels because he wastes no time after that thrusting into me.
The stretch causes me to gasp. It feels so damn good, and he knows it too, because he doesn’t let me adjust before pulling out and thrusting to the hilt again.
“Oh God, James,” I moan.
He holds a steady pace, getting me so damn close before he pinches my clit hard, sending me over. He follows shortly after with erratic thrusts and then collapses to the side of me, releasing my wrists at the same time.
I take a second to catch my breath. When I finally do, I realize he’s barely said two words, and the distance now feels like a giant canyon.
Something is very wrong, but I don’t even know how to approach it with him.
Rolling over to my side, I tuck my hand under my cheek and look at him. His arm is thrown over his eyes, his chest still rising and falling.
Wordlessly and without looking at me, he rolls off the bed and finds his way to the bathroom.
Cold, that’s how I feel right now.
My eyes well up with tears I refuse to let fall because this reaction is ridiculous.
As amazing as that was, it also felt detached. For the first time since we got together, I feel used.
I know there’s more going on here, more going on with him, but I can’t see past my own hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt right now. Or hell, the support he probably needs, and it makes me mad at myself.
“Will…”
“I really need to get some more writing done tonight. I hope that’s cool.” I blink back the tears before sitting up and grabbing my clothes. I quickly dress and head toward my office, not caring if he follows right now.
The distance he came in here with is the distance I’m going to make damn sure I keep right now. I knew it was a terrible idea to think we could be anything more, but damn it, I wanted to be right, no matter how unrealistic it is.
I want him.
“I’m sorry.” His soft, gravelly voice hits me.
“What happened?” I ask, still refusing to look into his eyes. It feels like if I do, I’ll show him too much, let him see too much.
“I-I had a bad day,” he finally says.
It’s not enough; he knows it, and I know it. There’s way more to it, but he’s choosing to only tell me the bare bones. I’m not sure why. I’m not sure when I gave him the impression that I couldn’t handle the hard stuff, but here we are. And I’m not even sure I want to try to push him. Because what would that really accomplish right now?
Getting closer and falling for him? Being let down easy? Which would lead to me not writing because it would hit me harder than I want it to, leading to a missed deadline and disappointed readers. A petty reason, but it feels monumental to me right now.
This whole night is bringing up feelings I’m not remotely ready for, and Oakley staying here is only making it worse.
“Okay. If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.” I’m proud of how normal I sound.
I plop down in my chair and open my laptop.
“Will, I just don’t want to talk about it.”
