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I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what this is, and I hate it, but I think if he stops touching me, I’ll break. Because these brushes of his fingers are holding all the pieces ready to shatter. Those pieces of me will fall apart if I stop pretending for only a second and face reality.
My breath hitches, but before I can turn in his arms, he reaches up and pulls my hair free. It falls over my shoulders. He pulls it over one side, and the clip hits the carpet. I shiver as his lips come to my ear, and his breath sweeps across my neck.
“Jake,” I plead, my voice too breathy and wanting. “This isn’t what you need tonight.”
“You’re what I need tonight.”
Once again, I try to face him, but his fingers knead my flesh, and his arm around my waist holds me in place.
“I said. Keep. Playing.” The demanding rasp of his voice is enough to make me moan. I try to hold it back. I try counting to five to calm my breathing as my fingers go back to dancing over the keys, but nothing is working because I can’t concentrate on anything.
And when I feel the soft touch of his lips against my shoulder, my heart stops listening. It hasn’t listened to me from the moment my brain whispered that this man wasn’t mine.
I’m fighting with it.
Maybe I’m not fighting hard enough.
His fingers roam the flesh of my inner thighs, my body melting into him for support with every inch higher. My defenses are too wounded and tired to fight it.
I shouldn’t give in. I should stand and walk away, but I can’t.
I won’t.
I don’t want to.
Slipping the thin material of my underwear aside, he hisses against my neck when his finger pressures against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
My eyes flutter closed, my head falling back on his shoulder, and my fingers slip away from the keys. My body goes slack, but I don’t move because he’s holding me so tight, I couldn’t if I wanted to.
With gentle kisses along my neck, I toss my head back further, fuelled by the groan in his chest.
My nails claw at his thighs as he motions circles around my center, each heavy brush of his fingers making me dizzy, sending me spiraling further into him. Agonizingly slow, he slips two fingers inside me. My body tenses, but only briefly before he begins to move again, the heel of his palm working me into a frenzy.
The delicate strokes of his fingers on my waist are a complete contrast to the onslaught of his fingers in my core.
“Jake,” I cry, my every breath erratic.
Another kiss below my ear sends shivers across my body.
“Beautiful.”.
It’s not the first time he’s called me that, but the word leaving his lips always creates heat in my stomach, and there’s already too much. The familiar fire unfurls. I grip tighter to his thighs, his arms, anywhere to keep me grounded, to keep me together, because I’m slowly shattering in the most torturous way.
His mouth is against my temple when he orders, “Stop fighting it.”
I hate that he can read my body so well.
But this is a war I’m waging against myself and my heart. Not him.
And I am fighting it. For some fucking control because I don’t have it anymore.
But my heart wins, my body caves into the feel of his touch, and as if sensing my surrender, he fists my hair around his hand, slowly pulling my head back until our eyes lock, and I’ll never fight hard enough when he looks at me like this.
“Come for me, baby.” His chest heaves against my back. “Now, Claire,” he growls.
Those words are my undoing, and only for he’s holding me so tight, I’m sure I’d come apart in his arms. My mouth parts, but he swallows the moan before it escapes. My body goes slack as he begins to slow, and my breathing evens, coming back to him,. Back to reality.
His lips remain on my skin as I turn my head down, and it takes every cell in my body to open my mouth and speak because I can sit here, playing notes that reflect the battle inside me, and I can pretend. I’m good at it. But when I wake, I will have to open my eyes to know that my pretending only cut slices through my own heart. If I pretend, I’ll find it harder to breathe when I stop.
