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I’m desperate.
“I can’t.”
My breath stutters, and I hold onto his hair roughly, tilting his face toward mine, and I see how his dark pupils widen at that.
“Stay,” I say, my lips so close to his, and he shakes his head, swallowing roughly.
“Can’t.”
I brush my lips against his, and he moans brokenly at the contact, and then our mouths collide, like two comets meeting in space, and my entire body explodes from the feel of him. From the taste of him. My teeth knock against his as we tilt our heads and try and consume each other. I need more, more.
It’s not enough.
I press him into the shower wall and tangle my tongue with his, my cock hardening between us. He groans beneath me, and I gasp as he bites down roughly on my bottom lip before licking the sting away. His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me to him. I’m not going to stop him. He can do whatever he wants to me. I’d even let him fuck me. If that’s what he wanted. If that's what got him to stay.
This is the first time I’ve felt anything since he left. I’m helpless to do anything but continue.
He fucks my mouth with his tongue, plundering it, ravishing it, and I let him hold my head roughly while he does what he wants with me. I’ll let him do anything. Anything. Just need him. Need him.
And then he wrenches his face away from mine, and his breath stutters, his chest heaving.
“No,” he says, and those strong fingers loosen against me, freeing my head from his grasp, moving me gently away. “No, Whit.”
I bite my swollen lip to hold back a whimper as he turns off the water and steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my trembling body. And when I’m completely dried off, he pulls on his clothes. His cock is still hard, and he tucks himself away, his hands shaking slightly.
He still wants me.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” he says. “I’m sorry. Did I…. did I hurt you?”
He glances at my swollen lip, and I shake my head.
He lets out a relieved breath. “Good. Let’s get you dressed.”
I let him take the towel from me and dry my still wet legs, and then he’s helping me into clean underwear, and he’s pulling a shirt over my head.
“Better.”
I just stand there, my hands hanging loosely by my sides, as he rubs at his chest.
“Hate seeing you like this, Whit,” he finally says, his voice breaking.
“Then come home,” I manage to croak out.
His eyes close, and he turns his face from me. “I can’t be here when I know you’re getting married. I can’t do that to myself.”
When his eyes open, he looks at me, “Are you still going through with it?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, and he moves toward me, his knuckles brushing my cheek.
“Charge your phone, please.”
I blink up at him, leaning into his hand.
Don’t go!
“Take care, Whit.”
And then he’s gone.
