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On the brink of tears, I pick up a spoonful of risotto and catapult it onto his shirt. The food glides down the fabric and slops on to the table.
He looks up at me, a slow grin drawing his lips out. “You don’t like it, baby?”
He isn’t happy. But he didn’t look for me? I stayed away from him. I wrote letter after letter, text after text, only to throw them away and delete them. . . I settled- I settled for easy and safe, but he isn’t happy anyway! Heat hits my ears. “Then why didn’t you come for me?” I mutter, my eyes dancing around his tattoos. To the butcher bird on his hand. To the word ‘Butcher’ in cursive writing, which traces the cords of muscles running the full length of his neck. Vibrant colours. So much love and loyalty for his family. But I was his fucking family! We were family! “Why didn’t you come for me?” I say louder this time, and when I find his face again, his smile has slipped. “Why didn’t you come for me!” I scream through a strangled sob that makes his eyes gloss over and his jaw tic. “I thought you hated me.” My breath shakes violently as he stands up and walks back around the counter. I barely manage to gaze up. Can’t quite bring myself to meet his eyes. “I thought-”
“You think I didn’t try?” he says smoothly, raising his hand to stroke my face. Closing my eyes, I allow a few tears to slide out. “Shoshanna,” he purrs. “You think I didn’t try to hunt you down, baby? You think I’d just let you leave me?”
He tried to find me. . .
I open my eyes, peering up through lashes beaded with tears. “You still loved me?”
His eyes are pools of pain masked by cool detachment. “Did you think I’d just stop?”
“I don’t know.” I breathe out hard. “I don’t know.”
“Yes,” he says, lifting my chin with his finger. “I stillloveyou. I never stopped. Not for a second.”
Emotions overflow, my heart aching for the sixteen-year-old girl who loved him more than life. Craved him more than her next breath.
It’s too late now.
It’s too late.
Tears burst from my eyes, and within seconds, he is sweeping me into his arms. I give myself to him willingly, wrapping my legs around his waist, circling my hands around his thick, strong neck. His arms band my whole frame and his mouth finds mine in a completely devouring kiss.
It’s rough.
Bruising.
He growls his emotions against my lips, and I sob mine against his. Because it is too late. I don’t know where the time went or how I learnt to breathe without him, but I can’t start over again. Can’t go through that perpetual grief. That loss.
This is goodbye.
It has to be.
His tongue tastes me as he walks us into a wall, crushing me against it until I can barely breathe. Then he moves to the door.
Squeezing his hips with my thighs, I rub my core against his stomach, ignited by the anticipation of him inside me. . . again. He carries me into the master bedroom. Climbing onto the bed, he drags me with him.
Our kisses are messy.
Frantic.
His movements are beautifully jarring and exhilarating, his lips perfectly rough. His hands find my bra strap behind my back, skilled fingers unclipping them with ease.
Breaking our kiss, he pins my hands above my head, then lifts my bra and shirt up in quick succession, leaving them knotted around my elbows. Clawing at the pillow above my head, I keep my arms up, letting the shirt and bra restrain me.
He is back on my mouth again, biting and growling and losing control. And I want it.
Teeth graze down my jawline, scoring a line to my breasts. He sinks his teeth in to one of my nipples. My back arches on a whimper as pain flares through me, gravitating directly to the swelling skin between my legs. I thrash around as he applies more pressure to that sensitive hard bud before moving to the other breast, taking that one with just as much passion. Just as much dominance.
The mattress shifts as he slides down my stomach, his tongue licking me in a primal way, tasting my skin. My sweat. His breath trails heat as he approaches my shorts. He unbuttons them with his teeth.
Planting my feet on either side of him, I lift my bum up so he can wriggle my clothes over my arse, leaving me in my black-coloured underwear.
I’m suddenly painfully aware of all the lights above me, illuminating my body. Every dip. Every curve. I slip into a place of self-conscious thoughts, plagued by the clouds of his past lovers. Women far more beautiful than me. How many has he had? Did he love any of them?
Before I can sink too far into that thought, he spreads my knees, pushing them up and pinning them to the mattress. He exposes my pussy and arse, displaying me to him, spread eagle and only partly covered by the lace of my underwear. Nerves and arousal ignite across my skin.
