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I shake my head. Dread fills me at the suggestion. Having him here is the first time this condo has felt complete. And since I’m unwilling to delve into why that is, I want to enjoy the feeling for as long as possible.
Nick stares at me, deliberating. I wait for the,This is a bad idea, or,We shouldn’t do this.
But he doesn’t speak either of those obvious truths. He stands and circles the island until he’s right in front of me, crowding my space and stealing my oxygen.
He stares at me like he’s mesmerized by the sight. Like it’s the first time he’s seen me. Like all the tiny details matter, not just the full picture. The tip of his thumb slips under the hem of my sweater and glides along my waist, sending sparks of heat spiraling through me. It’s basically an accidental brush, but it sets me on fire becausehe’sthe one touching me.
“This isn’t why I came.”
Oof. That comment slaps like an insult, but he’s matter-of-fact.
Nick isn’t trying to hurt me. He’s letting me know him being here is temporary. This isn’t the start or continuation of anything. It’s an addendum, tacked on after what was supposed to be the ending, because no matter what state our relationship—or lack of one—is in, the sex is always phenomenal.
He left, and I left, and we’ve always taken different paths when the road splits, either by choice or circumstance. That hasn’t changed. Won’t change, even as he rubs the sensitive skin just above the waistband of my jeans.
“I know.” I breathe the words, barely louder than a whisper.
Knowing it’s selfish.
Knowing the person I’m hurting is myself—and maybe him.
I’m too cowardly to ask Nick if I matter to him. As Lyla, not just his son’s mom.
That’s been an easy excuse for some of what’s taken place between us. And I’ve embraced the fuzziness because it’s allowed me to enjoy this without taking responsibility. Without assigning meaning. Without analyzing thatclackof gun hitting wood.
“I miss you too,” he whispers.
And then he’s kissing me, capturing my bottom lip between his teeth and sucking on my tongue and making it very difficult to think or to breathe or to remain upright.
One of his hands moves between us, unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. He jerks at the lace of my underwear, the textured lace rubbing against my clit.
I gasp, arching against him. Liquid pleasure runs through me languidly, dripping like warm honey.
“I lied earlier,” he says, still jerking the lace.
“About what?” My voice is raspy and rough. Like sandpaper soaked with desire.
“I don’t hate you, Lyla. Ican’thate you.”
I pull his lips to mine instead of answering. Nick is dangerous. Dangerous for my heart and dangerous, period. He’s like stepping into the eye of the storm and simply hoping you don’t sustain any damage.
Emotions aren’t logical. They’re messy and unpredictable. And I feel like I have to sort through them once for myself and once for Leo.
Nick gets on board with talking with our bodies. He lifts me up onto the counter and tugs my jeans the rest of the way down. I part my legs, and he steps between them, simply tugging the soaked lace to the side. I whimper, a breathy, desperate sound that probably conveys how much I missed this. Not just the pleasure, but the closeness, the intimacy.
I’m not embarrassed around Nick. Iwanthim to see me bare like this. On display in front of him, I feel revered. Cherished. Sexy.
He looks his fill, then rolls on a condom. The head of his cock notches into place, nudging into my pussy an inch before he stops moving. The anticipation builds until it becomes a presence between us.
I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. That this is probably the last time we’ll be in the position. The last time that we’re in the before as opposed to the after. The last time that there will beanothertime.
He pushes inside slowly, giving me a chance to adjust to his size. We stay like that for a moment, and then it shifts. Slow turns frantic. Skin slaps. Sweat builds.
Nick’s thrusts are rough, not gentle. There’s nothing considerate or loving or romantic about it.
I’m supposed to be purging him from my system. But with each thrust, it feels like the opposite is happening. Like he’s sinking into me more than in the physical sense, embedding himself so deeply, it will be more than painful to remove. Right now, it feels impossible.
Tears sting my eyes.
