I inhale him, consume him.
And when I push into his tight heat, etching the memory of the way he looks beneath me, the way he chants my name, I force myself not to look away.
I just stare down at him, feel him, experience him.
For what may be the last time.
And he does the same, his eyes so unguarded and trusting.
If he only knew.
How he’d hate me.
“Whit,” he moans as we come together, the feeling of it being over an indescribable doom.
I fall against him, his hands rubbing up my back as I hold myself inside of him.
One last time.
“What is it?” he whispers. “Why are you acting like this?”
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, my voice rasping and desperate.
“What for?”
My eyes squeeze shut. “I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t.”
“Fix what?”
I shake my head and dig my fingers deeper into the skin of his shoulders, marking him with bruises.
“I have secrets. And I can’t keep them anymore.”
He stills beneath me and lets out a long exhale. “Tell me.”
I can’t stop the flood of tears, my cheeks wet from my pain.
Fuck. Fuck this.
“Whit, tell me. You’re scaring me,” he says, his thumbs brushing the tears away.
Slowly, I pull out of him and feel the absence of him surrounding me like a cut to my skin.
“I don’t want to tell you. Can I have just one more night with you?”
He runs his hand through his hair, debating it. I can see the struggle on his face. He wants to, but I know he wouldn’t be able to cope with the uncertainty.
“I can’t do that, Whit. I need you to tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we can work through it.”
I sniffle and swipe at my eyes, knowing this is the end.
I force myself to look at him when I say it.
“I’m engaged.”
“To me, you mean?” he says with a small smile.
I shake my head and feel dread sit heavily in my throat. It’s threatening to cut off the air. “No, to someone else.”
