Page 102 of The Fix

I gasp out. “Squeeze those fingers with that tight cunt like the dirty girl I know you are.”

I’m leaking. So close to busting all over my fist that goosebumps rise over most of my body.

“Toby,” she sobs for me in that perfect orgasming cry, and I lose it.

All over my stomach, my chest.

“Tell me you’re mine, Anna.” I’m dragging ragged breaths in and pushing the negative voices out. “Tell me you’ll stay.”

The quiet descends upon me once again.

She’s going to say no.

Yet, there’s five little words that are strong enough to ruin lives and start wars that sit on the tip of my tongue.

“Anna,” I breathe out, the weight settling into this silence getting heavier with each second that passes without a response.

I want to tell her.

But there’s another four words I’ve yet to say, ones that stick in my throat like the betrayal that they are.

I lied to you.

She may never forgive me for what I did at the cabin. She may never trust a word I say ever again. May never be able to see past what I’ve done.

That is what has an ache blossoming in my chest, one that grows with each day that I reach out to her and don’t say the words.

I pretend, for her sake, because I want the connection only she can give. I don’t want her to stop. To lose her.

I don’t want her to hate me.

But is this any better?

“I just wish I could see you,” I whisper, the thoughts spoken aloud for her. “Trace the patterns of your freckles with my eyes when you’re not paying attention. Feel the strands of your hair slip through my fingers.”

Biting my lip, I snatch up the tee I left beside me on the bed and swipe away the mess.

“Hear your voice ... tell me how ridiculous I’m being.” There’s a faint chuckle that escapes me, but it comes out thick. “Tell me I’m an idiot. Fling that attitude in my direction, shoot fire from your eyes, even though they’re as green as precious gemstones. The way they light up …”

I shake my head.

For the rest of what I have to say, I need to be in front of her for. Need to see that light in her eyes flare at me in person for the things I’ve done.

And for that, I’d be willing to wait a lifetime.

A lifetime of groveling and making up. Building. Learning. Trusting.

A lifetime, nonetheless.

“Two weeks, Mama,” I say into the phone, my voice a graveled murmur. “One hour. Fifty-two minutes.”

Chapter Fifty-Five

Anna

“So wait a second.”

I whip my head from one side of the table to the next, my hair floating all around and ending up stuck in the lipstick Aria swore I should wear tonight.

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