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“What is it? Where were you? Are you okay? I was worried.”
He stares at me, a solemn look in his eyes, and then he grabs my hand and pulls me to the bedroom.
Undressing me.
Pushing me down.
Thrusting into me.
His eyes never leave mine, and when he kisses me, it’s with such desperation that I cling to him.
Why does this seem ominous?
Why does it feel like the last time?
He clutches onto my hair, his thumbs brushing over my temples as he kisses me deeply, our tongues warring with each other as he pumps in and out of me.
“Whit,” I murmur, needing him to reassure me that everything will be okay, but he’s silent. Just continues to torment me with his mouth, hands, and cock until I’m coming.
He follows me over shortly after and then falls onto me, holding onto me, his whole body shaking.
“What is it?” I ask, unnerved.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“What for?” I ask my heart rate tripling. God, this is bad. Really bad.
He’s silent for a moment, and then, “I tried to fix it, but I couldn't.”
“Fix what?”
He shakes his head and digs his fingers deeper into the skin of my shoulders, marking me with bruises.
“I have secrets. And I can’t keep them anymore.”
I still beneath him. On a trembling exhale, I say, “Tell me.”
Whit shakes his head, wetness seeping into my skin from where he’s laid his head.
Shit.
“Whit, tell me. You’re scaring me.”
He sniffles softly and mutters, “I don’t want to tell you. Can I have just one more night with you?”
I run my hand through his hair, wanting to let this whole thing go, to put it off. To have one more night with him. But with how he’s been acting, I know I’ll be worried sick when morning rolls around. No, I need to know now.I need to know.
“I can’t do that, Whit. I need you to tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we can work through it.”
Whit sniffles again and then pulls out of me slowly. His release seeps down my ass and onto my thighs, but I don’t even notice. My sole focus is on him. Always on him.
He stares at me, sprawled out beneath him, and then looks away. His jaw works, the muscles bunching and flexing as he grinds his teeth.
“I’m engaged.”
“To me, you mean?” I ask, but I know that’s not who he’s referring to, even as I say it.
“No, to someone else.”
