Page 93 of The Plus One Pact

Because I want to come with her.

My gaze stays on her as I work myself.

She gets there fast, touching herself with just the right speed, breath hitching, legs shaking as she comes.

She tugs at the soft sheets then she releases, a spent puddle.

Only she's not spent.

She catches her breath and works herself to orgasm again.

It's enough to push me to the brink. I watch her moan through her orgasm, then I grip myself tighter, move faster.

I'm there just after her.

My cock pulses as I come. I spill onto the damn towel. A mess I don't care about cleaning.

Then I do the next thing I want.

I move out of the closet, I join her on the bed, I slide into the sheets with her.

Not because it's what I'm supposed to do.

Because I want to hold her.

And she sinks into me.

Because she wants my arms around her, I hope. But I don't know.

And that's a strange and terrifying feeling.

To want someone and hold absolutely none of the cards.

How the hell does anyone do it?

Chapter Twenty-One

Ivy

"How are the lessons in love going?" Even though it's past quiet hours in New York, Meredith's voice is bright and loud. Even though we’re three-thousand miles apart, I hear her clearly. The magic of technology. She’s in a rustic cabin in the woods and I’m in my guest bedroom in my pajamas, but it feels like we’re hanging out at the office, sipping drinks.

"Aren't you supposed to be meditating?" I ask.

"A deflection. That means you don't want to answer." Her laugh is easy and full, like she really has thought her problems away.

Or maybe it's more the not thinking that does it. After all, thinking about relationships is typically overthinking about relationships. Too much introspection can turn even the best relationship into a source of pain. The same goes for relationships, vacations, life goals.

Obsessing over how we feel is a quick way to feel crappy. But ignoring it doesn't work either. We have to find a middle ground.

Maybe she knows something I don't. She and Romeo. Maybe we should do more and think less.

"I could say the same about you," I say.

"Ah, but I'm not a therapist. No one expects me to have my shit figured out."

As if. "Mer--"

"I know, I know. You're a hot mess." She pauses and takes a deep breath. Considering how to say something to me, maybe. That's not like her. "I know you've felt that way since your divorce. I know you felt that way when things were falling apart. But you never really showed it… I won't push you, either. You're a private person. And that's cool. Sharing secrets isn't the only way to deepen friendships, but it is hard… hearing how you're such a mess when I'm waking up in a different apartment every weekend."