Page 107 of Let’s Be Real

“Nate,” she cried. “I can’t…I can’t…”

She always said that. But she could. She could do anything. And if I stopped, if I fucked her, then she’d want to sleep and I’d be alone. Another night of pacing. It was becoming torture.

So I kept at her. How long had we been doing this?

Too long?

Fuck, had we been going for too long? Would she know?

The currents were wild, pounding into the ridges of my skull so sharply it was all I could do to bury my face between her thighs to muffle it. And it helped. She always helped.

But lately, it was taking more of her to get me through, and I wasn’t sure what was normal anymore. If she could tell. If she’d noticed.

She yanked at my hair again with so much force, I had to listen. Only when I rose over her, I noticed I wasn’t really hard.

How was that possible? She was sweaty, eyes glazed, lips pink and puffy, looking at me like I was the answer to everything. She reached for me, pulling me down on her.

I knew when she felt it. She stiffened momentarily, her heels pausing on their trail down the backs of my legs.

“I’m sorry,” I huffed into her throat.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Is it…?”

“I think I’m more tired than I realized.” I tried to laugh it off, but it came out drier than a husk. “Too many beers tonight probably didn’t help.”

She went quiet, petting my hair and holding me tight against her. My heart thudded in my ears, and I was drowning in her scent, my guilt, the sureness that this was it. I’d messed up. She’d know. She was probably already wishing she’d never agreed to this.

Then, in a wobbly voice, she asked, “Is it me?”

For once in what felt like forever, everything cleared and my head stopped pounding long enough to pull back and meet her eyes. The insecurity I found there nearly split me in two.

“Never, sweet girl.” I smoothed her hair from her face and took her cheek in my hand. “I’m so attracted to you, I can’t think straight. My broken dick has nothing to do with you. I’m sorry—”

“Please don’t apologize.” She wrapped her legs around my back and pulled me into her. I wasn’t any harder, but it was nice to sink down and share her heat. “I love you. As long as we’re okay…?”

“We’re always okay.” I touched my lips to hers. “I love you, Sammie.”

“Then we’re fine.” She yawned, big and wide, then laughed at herself. “I think we’re both tired. You wrung me out.”

“Let’s go to sleep.”

I held on to her for dear life long after she drifted off. I’d never felt so disconnected from my body, from her, from life. But soon, the loneliness of the night got to me. Dread curdled my gut to the point I was sure I was going to be sick. I unwrapped myself from Samantha without disturbing her and bolted to the bathroom.

I fell to my knees, clutching the toilet, and wretched. It went on forever, my body racked with shivers, my muscles quivering with fatigue. If it had been possible to vomit the poison in my head, it would have been expelled from me then, along with my intestines and the lining of my stomach.

But even when I was empty, it was still there.

I pressed the heels of my palms against my temples until stars burst behind my eyelids, willing something, anything to loosen.

Nothing moved, and panic crawled over me like spiders with their sticky, creepy feet.

How long was this going to last?

I hadn’t even thought of Louise in days. Weeks, maybe? Then again, I’d used every ounce of my energy to concentrate on work and Samantha. Everything and everyone else had fallen by the wayside. There was nothing left.

I was sapped.

My stomach twisted again, but I was hollowed out.