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“Why not?”
“We just can’t.”
The next full minute happens in slow motion. He pushes his head into my stomach and breathes in deeply. Then, he bends to pull his combats back up his legs, fastening them. Then, he raises his head finally, and looks at me.
“I can’t do it,” he breathes out. “It’s not right.”
What?I close my legs and inch to the side, recoiling.
He turns away and rubs a hand over his face. I watch him, fearful of what has just happened and what’s about to happen next. The villa is eerily quiet now, the sound of our actions a mere echo. So, when he puts his hands over his face, bends at the knees and screams, “Fuuuuucckkk!” I shoot about a mile off the counter.
Not even a second later, I’m livid. And mortified. And humiliated. I leap off the counter, ram my shorts back over my ass and run into my suite slamming the door behind me. I storm into the shower and turn the water on full blast, hoping the hammering droplets drown out the sound of my crying.
I put my heart on the line out there and he just shot right through it. I opened myself up to him, I came under the briefest of touches. He inhaled my breath and fed me his. Then he shut down. Just like that.
I thought I’d finally found someone I could trust. He was supposed to protect me, but he just broke me in two.
