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He shakes so hard he makes a little noise, a whimpered sort of grunt.
“I’m sorry, Gwenna. I’m so sorry.” His hand tangles in my hair.
I cup his nape and hold his head against me. “I forgive you.” I hold him close and tight and try to give him all my love. My poor friend. Before I know it, my mouth is on his temple. The one with the scar. I kiss him there, gently.
I feel his lips brush up against my throat. He inhales; then his forehead nuzzles underneath my chin. He rolls away from me, but pulls me with him, so he’s on his back and I’m above him.
He looks dazed.
I cup his face, stroking the light beard on his cheeks.
My mouth twists up on one side. “Hi, Bear.”
“Can you call me Barrett?”
“Sure.” I lay against his chest and wiggle a hand under his back.
“They called me Bear. Sometimes I miss it, but…”
He shifts his hips a little, and I look down and see a telltale tenting of his pants.
“I’m sorry.”
I draw away from him. I didn’t think about that, about how my rubbing up against him would make him react. Stupid Gwenna.
His eyes flip open, and he grabs my hair. His hand cups his thick erection.
“It would be…a terrible mistake—” He groans— “For me to keep this up.”
“Why would it be?”
His eyes squeeze shut; he grits his teeth. Watching his palm press against his lovely bulge, I touch his leg.
He moans. His hand closes around mine. “Gwenna, please.”
“Want me to move?” I can’t tell where he is, or what he needs. I scoot back.
He sits up. Stands up.
I take hold of his hand. “Everything’s okay.”
“It’s not.” He turns partially away from me; we’re still holding hands, but I can only see his profile now.
I whisper, “Why?”
“I want to touch you again. I’ve been wanting you. It’s a problem.” The word is whispered. “I fucked this up. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to keep from telling you.” He rubs the base of his palm over his face.
“Telling me what?” I ask him gently.
He pulls me to him, rests his chin on my hair.
“I would never, never hurt you. Please believe me.” He pulls back; our eyes meet for a moment, then he pulls me back against him.
I reach my arm around his waist and run my fingers down the firm plank of his lower back. “I do.”
“I wish I could leave it there. I wanted to leave it there. But it came with me. It’s in here and I can’t get away.” He reaches in between us, tapping his chest. “It’s a one-time thing.” He moves his hand and rests his face on my head. “People should…fight and then die.”
“No,” I murmur.
