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I’ll need to, but at least not tonight.

When a small purring heat curls up at my back, a lump builds in my throat.

Perhaps I’m not completely alone.

THIRTY-SIX

MAX

I tug my hoodie off and dump it on the side, ready to throw back on for work again tomorrow. Same shit, just a different day.

The only difference is that I get to come home to Rosy. Although it’s not easy sitting back and watching her struggle, to see her shutting down and pulling away at times. She called me out on pulling away from her, but she’s the one withdrawing now.

I’m too scared I’ll push her away even more if I do the same.

I deserved her anger. Fuck, I don’t think she should’ve forgiven me that easily. The guilt-laden nausea that climbs up my throat has my eyes falling shut as I try to push it away, doing my best to inhale through it.

I’ve still not forgiven myself.

She said we’d be doing this together. After she kicked us out after her nightmare last night, I feel even more cut off from her.

I yank my T-shirt off and throw it in the dirty pile. A knock sounds on my door.

“Hi, honeybee.” I smile, pushing energy I don’t have into it.

Her mouth opens, then snaps shut. Her eyes are fixed on my chest.

I glance down, trying to see what she’s looking at when the air’s punched from my lungs as I’m pushed a step back and my door thuds shut behind her.

“Rosy?” I manage to ask. She doesn’t reply or give me a chance to say anything more as she grabs my face and yanks me down, covering my mouth with hers. Thoughts scatter as I moan into her, my tongue slipping in when she opens for me. Her nails sink into the skin on my shoulders so hard I hiss through my teeth, gritting as it fuels the lust between us.

Fuck, my honeybee’s feisty.

“Rosy?” I pull back, and my ego gets a boost when she chases my mouth.

“Don’t you want this?” She huffs, her hands touching and caressing my bare skin.

I fight to not fall under her spell. “Of course I do.” Her nails drag down my chest, and I moan. “But you seem…” I’m unsure I want to finish the sentence and tell her she seems enraged, worried I might add fuel to her flames. This fiery heat isn’t what we’ve been before. The anger in her seems a little explosive, so I don’t resist when she tugs me to her again.

I’m not going to brush aside what she needs; a part of me wants her to unleash the rage. Fuck, I’m not naïve to think this is only about what she went through, but also everything we’ve done to hurt her with the addition of what he did and took from her all piling up. She might use us for comfort, to help keep her grounded and not adrift in her darkened thoughts, but she’s still hurt and drowning under the weight of it all. I shouldn’t even be the one she wants to do this with; I don’t deserve any of her attention. But pushing her away would hurt her even more, and I’m too selfish to stop her. Even if she’ll regret things afterwards.

The desperation from my thoughts propels me. I don’t break our messy kiss as I lift her and turn. Our bodies thump against the wall as I push her into it. My hands reach under her sweatshirt, palming her bare breasts and tugging at her hardened nipples.

The heels of her feet dig into my back as her teeth nip and tug at my lips, fighting to draw me closer. When my fingers twist her nipple, her hips jolt, pushing against my length.

I groan at the friction through my jeans. The fabric’s abrasive, and nothing like I know her soft hole would feel like. Would…because we’ve never gotten to this point before. My hesitation almost ruined things.

I’m not hesitating now. I’m not taking away any more of her decisions. She can use me how she wants, how she needs, and I’ll take it.

The heavy weight of my guilt wants to erase any potential hurt I could inflict.

It demands that I bend, that I cave.

Rosy doesn’t give me a moment to catch up. She grips the back of my neck with one hand and contorts to grip my waistband with the other. With her legs still wrapped around my waist, she fumbles one handed and tugs the zip down, then twists to release my hard cock from its confines.

My breath stutters as she fists it for only a second, then notches it at her entrance. I slip an inch in, and her wetness coats me. She wants this, me. Then why does it seem like she just wants to feel? Does she care if it’s me, or would any of us do?

It’s harder to breathe, my throat struggling to swallow as the heavy insecurities rise up.