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And he presses that thumb.
And he thrusts those fingers.
And his mouth descends to cover mine again, tongue sliding between my lips, tangling with mine.
And—
I come.
Pleasure exploding out from my clit, my pussy convulsing around his fingers, tightening every muscle in my body, sending every nerve to high alert.
And then I’m falling apart, slumping down, elbows slamming onto the counter hard enough to steal the edge of my pleasure, to remind me of the always present pain in my side, the ache that never seems to go away.
Stefan curses, but then moves in a rush, hand coming behind my head, catching me before I bash my skull into the cabinets.
And the hurt in my torso fades as warmth covers me from head to toe at his show of care—old emotions and bliss, pleasure and the past all tangled up.
His fingers slide free of my pussy, sending aftershocks of my orgasm through my body.
And then I’m in his arms, cradled against his chest as he carries me through the kitchen, as he brings me up the stairs.
Down the hall.
Into our bedroom.
Onto our bed.
I reach for him as my body settles on the mattress, hands dropping onto his shoulders, fingers digging in, trying to draw him closer.
Only to feel him slip free of my hold.
My eyes shoot open.
And I watch as he takes a step back.
It’s as though I’m smacked in the face with a freezing cold wave.
Or maybe that’s just his eyes.
Blazing blue turned into frosty flecks of Arctic ice.
My throat is tight, but I manage to push out, “Stefan?—”
Only to watch as he takes another step back.
His expression is frigid. Those eyes are ice. And all the while he’s erecting the Grand Canyon between us.
“I—”
But now he’s at the door, the light from the hall silhouetting his strong, muscular frame, the distance between us a never-ending gulf.
One second, I was in his arms.
The next, I’m cold and hurting and alone.
And that’s what has my lips pressing together, what has my words stoppering up in the back of my throat. I’m not going to beg him to stay.
I’ve already done that.
