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It was harder to do than you’d think.
Our thoughts were always there, flitting through our mind forever bugging us about something, and with thought came worry. It was a vicious cycle really. But in moments like this, where the man I loved held me, I wanted all my focus to be on him.
“Sutton,” he breathed my name against my lips and it sent a shiver down my spine. I moaned in response.
He undressed me slowly, taking his time exploring my body.
I didn’t miss rough sex, because this was so much better. Before, I’d thought I had to have it because it gave me control, but there was something more freeing about letting go and trusting him not to hurt me.
“Open for me,” he growled low and husky, his hands on my thighs. He didn’t have to ask. My legs fell open and he settled between them, easing inside me. I whimpered, fighting the effort to beg him to go faster. Oh so slowly he inched further in.
I was ready to burst, scream, cry, you name it, it was about to happen.
“Caelan,” I panted. “Please.”
He shook his head no. Fucker.
Brushing his nose against the hollow of my throat, he said, “You know I love you, right?”
“I know.”
I did. I saw it in the way he looked at me. The way he touched me. I felt his love all around me in everything he did and said. Even when he was angry, like today, his love was still there. Love wasn’t something that went away, it ebbed and flowed, but it was always there. It was ever changing, but once it was given it couldn’t be taken away. It was forever.
As he made love to me I thought nothing could ever ruin this.
I. Was. Wrong.
CHAPTER 23
Caelan
I was suffocating on the inside.
All the cells in my body were slowly being depleted of oxygen.
I couldn’t breathe, and yet, air still managed to reach my lungs.
I realized then it was the drugs my cells were yearning for, not air.
Lying in bed my whole body broke out in a sweat as I fought against the overwhelming need to take a hit. I’d been using every day for years now…in the past few months, I’d gotten better, only getting high a few times a week. But I’d made the decision to quit. I’d tossed out everything—all the drugs I had stashed around, particularly heroin, which was my go to, and even the alcohol. I had nothing. And I needed it. Bad.
A scream tore from my throat.
I need it.
I need it.
I need it.
This was fucking painful. It was like there were tiny pins piercing my body everywhere.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
Sleep. I wanted to sleep.
But there would be no sleep as long as I felt this.
What was I thinking?
