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Ragged breathing is now against my ear, the sound mingling with my own. The burning follows my blood flow, reaching the end of every limb. I whimper, my hand wrapping around Nathan’s, my hips pushing back to meet his. Oh god.
Can’t breathe.
Lights pop behind my eyes when I hear a hoarse cry rip from his throat.
Dillan cries and we both tense.
Reality seems to hit us both at the same time.
“I’ve got it,” I blurt and in seconds I’m out of bed and across the hall, my hands trembling, my legs jelly. Scooping Dillan up with a strength I shouldn’t have right now, I quickly change him and give him my breast. The discomfort of it helps me to gather my thoughts.
What the heck is wrong with me?
I’m cuddling Dillan and rocking him for only ten minutes before he’s asleep again. I need to speak to Nathan, we need to stop this. We can’t let this continue. It’s wrong and… it’s just wrong.
Caleb… I touch the picture of his gorgeous face that I hung from the cot mobile only a week ago. His smile makes me feel so damn guilty for whatever it is I’m doing.
The picture turns with the soft tinkling tune that plays as the mobile spins slowly. Tiny beige stuffed animals hang from its wooden points. Like being in a trance, I stare at the slowly moving mobile and lose myself for a moment, imagining what could have been.
Tears fall from my eyes as I think about what I’ve done. I wouldn’t even consider doing this if Caleb were alive. It would be so morally wrong and in a way… taboo. Nathan is his brother! This is stuff you see on the TV happening to other people. Reality shows where they have paternity tests to determine the father of the child.
Yet it’s happening to me.
My heart is so confused. My head tells me this is wrong but whenever I’m with Nathan my heart is conflicted. One part screams for Caleb and the piece he took with him, the other half tells me how much I love being around Nathan, how good he makes me feel. How cherished he makes me feel. How protected.
Sucking in my fear, I bury it deep down and slowly make my way to my room.
Where’s Nathan?
I step back out and notice the door at the end of the hall is open, the one leading to his bedroom. I should leave him alone, maybe he doesn’t want to sleep with me now. That isn’t a bad thing. We’ve taken this too far.
For some reason I can’t leave him. I start forward, my pulse throbbing with every step, my nerves rising. The last thing I want is to hurt him or to push him away; but he needs to understand that this, whatever this is between us, can’t happen.
I slowly and quietly ascend the stairs. There’s no light coming from beneath his bedroom door.
It’s shut, I should knock but for some strange reason I don’t. Maybe I’m worried I’ll wake him. At least… that’s what I tell myself.
The door opens an inch at a time with the assistance of my hand.
I hear his breathing, his heavy laboured breath. Another noise accompanies it. My head screams at me to look away but I can’t.
Instantly my mouth goes dry, as I stare at Nathan’s profile through the crack in the door. He’s standing, one hand leaning on the chest of drawers by his bed, the other… wrapped around his swollen and angry looking length. His blue and white pyjama trousers are still up so I’m assuming he’s only pulled the front down.
Slowly his hand strokes back and forth, a leather glove on it. That’s weird. Maybe he likes the feel of it.
His shoulders tense and his muscles bulge as he continues working himself. It’s an amazing sight. One I shouldn’t be appreciating.
“Damn it,” he whispers, his eyes on something on the desk in front of him. I can’t see what it is, the room is too dark and it’s too far away.
The muscles in his arm tense and flex as he picks up the pace, his hand now working almost furiously on himself. My stomach clenches, I feel myself become slowly wet as I watch the scene before me.
Gulp. He pulls on himself faster and harder, it looks almost painful. So raw, so… desperate.
I lean closer to the door. Big mistake.
My jellified legs buckle slightly as I lean, I catch myself on the door handle causing it to click.
My heart stops and I begin to shake. Oh crap.
He freezes, his eyes close, the whites no longer shining in the dim light coming through the open curtains.
I contemplate running but I’d just look like a creeper. Hell, I am a creeper.
Shiny beads of sweat glisten on his forehead like tiny diamonds, I have the urge to wipe them from his brow. I don’t. Instead I stand in the doorway, my mouth parted in silent shock.
