Page 78 of Hott Take

But for some reason I keep watching.

I watch while he closes the distance between them.

I watch while he asks her, “This okay?” and she says, “Fuck yes.”

Every muscle in my body rebels against the idea of him touching her, but at the same time, I can’t stop watching the play of expressions on her face. The way her teeth dig into her lower lip, the way her tongue peeks out to slick her mouth, the shy smile of welcome…and I’m hard.

I watch while he touches her. She’s wearing those fucking overalls, and she’s all creamy bare shoulders and moonstone curves, and his hands look ugly and rough on her satiny skin, and also, I want them to be my hands.

It’s torture, but I can’t look away, either. And I can’t talk my cock out of being hard enough to hurt.

And I want to punch the guy on-screen with her, who I’ve never met in my life. I don’t even know who he is. Some B-grade actor who didn’t even work again after this single-episode cameo.

I watch while he slides down the straps on her overalls. My cock jerks against the constraint of my boxer briefs and jeans, even though the screen is showing me far less of Ivy than I’ve seen now. I’m as turned on as if she were naked in front of me, offering her tits up to my mouth. And as pissed and wretched as I’d be if she were offering them up to the guy on the screen.

He’s lifting her up against the cobbled-together steampunk engine, and I turn away from the television. Just reflexively.

I can’t watch.

I can’t see the expression on her face as he fucks her.

And it’s right then, as I’m staring at the flicker of light on the hotel room wall, not watching the woman I want to be with, that I realize:

I’m done. I’m done running from what I want, I’m done running from what I need.

I’m done walking away from Ivy. I shut off the TV, I throw the remote back onto the bed, I shove my feet into my shoes. I run down the hall and catch the elevator just as the door is sliding shut. I practically run to the parking lot behind the Depot.

I don’t want anyone to be with her but me.

Because I need her to be mine.

34

Ivy

I stand in the kitchen, wiping down the counters. Like that will wipe away my frustration with myself.

I panicked.

It was just so…good.

So…much.

So real.

That’s the bottom line. It felt real. All afternoon, all evening, I felt like we were two people planning their wedding. Tasting cake. Teasing each other. Flirting. Being gently goaded and poked by the people around us.

Maybe that wouldn’t have pushed me over the edge, but then there was the intimacy of sharing secrets. Me telling him about Anthony. Him telling me about his dad.

For a little while, I felt like it was the two of us in this together. Opening up, showing ourselves—on each other’s sides, in each other’s corners.

Then he kissed me, and I felt it in every speck of myself, like I’d let down my guard and now he was in me for real.

I wanted it so, so much.

And I panicked because?—

It can’t be mine.

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