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“I’ll leave.” Tears cloud my vision but they’re not sad tears. I’m angry.
I stand, but before I can walk away, his hand clutches the hem of my dress.
“What the hell? What are you doing? ”I ask, my patience close to snapping.
His eyes remain locked on the fabric caught in his white knuckled grip. I’m starting to think he didn’t hear me, when he finally gives voice to his torment.
“You don’t understand. I need you too much. I want you too much. This is killing me, Beth.”
54
Carter
I can’t do this
Once I’ve said the words, I exhale in relief. I can see that they hurt her, but I’ve been dying under the weight of them.
I’ve known since the night of our helicopter ride. I can’t handle whatever this relationship we’re attempting to cobble together is. It could never b
e enough.
I thought about canceling today, but my mother would have killed me if I’d disinvited her. Now, I think that death would have been preferable to this torture
She sits down again, slowly as if she’s approaching a wild, wounded animal. If only she knew just how wounded I was…she’d wouldn’t come near me. I need her to know. So she’ll stay away.
“Carter, this is hard for me, too,” she says.
Anger at the gross understatement in that phrase robs me of my good sense.
“It’s not hard, Beth. It’s fucking impossible. This is hard.” I cup my cock through my jeans intending to shock and upset her.
The surprise or fear I expected is nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s a flagrant flare of hunger as they fix on my hand.
Too late, I remember the sorcery those paradise blues are capable of. They ensnare, ensorcel, and enchant me.
My hand, as if doing their bidding, moves up my erection in a long, languid stroke.
Her eyes widen and come to mine.
“Do you miss this?” I ask in low whisper.
Her breaths come in shallow pants and her eyes glisten with tears. Her nod is as sorrowful as it is desperate.
I understand.
“I know the way I feel is wrong…but, Beth…baby, my heart fucking beats for you. Every song, every tortured note, every hopeful word, everything is about you. I thought time would make it better. But, it’s worse.”
Her hand skims her breast, her thumb pressing in on one of her peaked nipples before moving down her torso and coming to rest on her now spread thighs.
Her tongue moves over her plump bottom lip.
I stroke myself, unable to stop now that I’ve started especially when I can see that she wants the same thing.
“Those words you’ve written on your ribs, the same ones are painted on my heart. This feeling is for always.”
She blinks and a single tear runs down her cheek and her throat works hard. But she’s not crying. And her eyes are darkened and hooded by lust.
“Are you wet?” I ask her what I already know.
