AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When my orgasm breaks free, I crush my lips to hers one final time, groaning my release into her mouth so it stays between us.
I want it to stay just our secret that this sexual encounter meant far more to me than it should have.
And I’m already feeling guilty about it.
Slowly, both of us breathless, I lower Tilden’s leg as she stares at me. She looks blissed out but also wary. I can’t fucking help myself. I brush my lips against hers. No clue why I like my mouth on her so much, but I do.
Makes me feel guiltier.
I pull out and roll off the bed. Her room is small, without a bathroom, so I head into the hallway to find it. I dispose of the condom, and when I make it back into the bedroom, she’s got the covers pulled up over her chest like battle armor.
Collecting my clothes, I start dressing.
“You’re leaving.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“I took advantage of you. You were drunk.” That’s not really the source of my angst, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Tilden sits up against the headboard, clutching the blanket to her as she narrows her eyes. Her tone is razor sharp. “You did not take advantage of me. I knew what I was doing, and I could have said no.”
I sit on the edge of the bed to put my shoes on. “You should have said no. I’m not a nice person.”
“Despite the fact you’ve shown great care for me twice now.” Her words are gentle, and I can’t help but look over my shoulder at her. “You showed care for me and my body in the most intimate of settings.”
I turn away from her and push off the bed so she can’t see the torment in my eyes. I can’t have her thinking soft things. “It’s just sex, Tillie.” I pull on my T-shirt. “Get over it.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snarls with such venom, my head whips back to look at her. I think I see a millisecond of hurt before anger flares in her expression. “That name is reserved for friends, and that’s not you.”
I hold her gaze, let her enmity seep into me. “I know,” I finally say before walking out of her bedroom.
CHAPTER 12
Coen
The trees surroundingmy property are so tall, it’s hard to see the sunrise. The most I get is a hazy dapple of light on the eastern edge of the backyard and darker dawn shadows on the other side.
Still, I find myself enjoying this time of morning on my back deck. Twilight starts just after five a.m., and I’m on the deck, coffee in hand, ready for the sunrise by five thirty. It’s not a quiet time of morning as the birds are quite noisy.
They don’t come around my deck anymore. Once the bird shit was scrubbed clean, there was no way I was going to encourage them back.
But each morning, I put out the peanuts Tilden left behind for the chipmunks. If I’m not on the deck, the squirrels will pilfer them first. They’re afraid of me, though, and bolt as soon as I step out or if I even approach the sliding glass door.
There’s a single chipmunk, however, that’s bold. I can set the peanuts on the rail and sit in a chair ten feet away, and he’s not afraid in the slightest.
Over the last two days, I’ve started experimenting with his bravery by putting the nuts closer and closer to me on the deck. This morning, I’m sitting in my chair, still as a statue, with a single peanut resting on the top of one shoe to see what he does. I’ve got one on the rail and then a trail of three more across the deck leading to me.
I hear the chip-trill of the little striped rodent before I see him. If I were to turn my head to the left, I’d see him scamperingtoward the deck from under the bush where I think his burrow must be, because that’s where he returns to after stuffing his cheeks full. Of course, I don’t know if it’s an actual “he,” but I’ve taken to calling him Chip, a typical male name, and it’s a he until proven otherwise.
But I don’t look his way. I keep my eyes pinned on the back of my yard where a line of trees separates me from my neighbor, Tilden Marshall. I left her bed three nights ago and haven’t seen her since.
Thought about her plenty, though.
Maybe even, at times, obsessively.
Being with her—fucking her—scraped something away. I felt raw, as if my soul had been shredded. When I walked out of her house, I felt like an open wound, seeping pain and bleeding misery.
Every day since?
I don’t know what it is I feel, but it sure doesn’t hurt as much. How could it, really, when all I can think about is how fucking good she felt?
