Page 39 of Endless Love

He’s the most confusing man I’ve ever known. I should hate him. Idohate the things he’s done. I hate that he’s lied to me. That he’s blown up my life.

But I don’t hate the man who took me out to the lake and told me things about himself. Who is risking everything to get me to some semblance of safety, when he could have just cut loose and left me with Bradley—or even before that, when his brothers were coming for me at my apartment. He could have run then, but he didn’t. He came to get me, and even if—in my opinion—he went about it all the wrong way, hedidsave me.

What the fuck, Charlotte?I cover my face with my hands, groaning into my palms. My mind is clearly getting scrambled by days on days spent with this man, and the mind-blowing pleasure that comes with every time I give in to what he offers me physically. I’m making excuses for him now, looking for the best in this, and I can’t believe I’m actually doing that.

But what if there is some good to find?I think of what I said to him in the diner this morning, that he isn’t a good man, and the way he didn’t argue with me. I saw a shadow on his face when I said it, but he accepted my judgment. And wouldn’t a truly bad man have tried to argue with me, to justify himself?

I’m not exactly the good girl that I used to be anymore, either. A good girl, a practical, rational,safegirl, the kind I used to be, doesn’t talk about fantasies of being chased and captured and spanked on the dark web with a faceless stranger. She doesn’t fuck the man who conveniently happened to be at her apartment the same night she was kidnapped, not once buttwicein the same morning. She doesn’t let that man finger her bent over a bathroom sink after finding out he’s been lying all along.

And she definitely doesn’t get soaking wet when he kisses her like he’s falling in love with her, in yet another seedy motel.

He can’t be. That’s not possible.The old me would believe that a man like Ivan is incapable of real love. But I’m learning that the world isn’t as black and white as I once thought.

I want things I shouldn’t. Getting a thrill from being on the run from the law. The adrenaline of us running from the diner left me more aroused than I wanted to admit, fantasies of Ivan pulling over on the side of the road and yanking me onto his lap, filling my mind as we raced down the highway. I imagined leaning over and unzipping him, making him come with my mouth while he drove. I pictured him fucking me before we even got out of the car when we pulled into the parking lot tonight.

I was wet before he even kissed me. And now?—

I reach down, dragging my fingers between my legs. I’m slick, hot, my clit throbbing under my fingertips. I want to turn off the water and go out to Ivan naked and dripping, sit on the end of the bed, and pull his mouth between my thighs. I want him to bend me over like he did after I went down on him, except this time, I want his cock, and not his fingers. I want?—

I want things I shouldn’t have. Things I have no business thinking about, that make me a hypocrite for even imagining them.

Bracing my hand against the wall, I slide my fingers down, slipping two inside of myself. I feel myself clench instantly around them, hips arching into my palm, desperate for release. But it’s not my own hand I want rubbing between my legs, not even when I press those two fingers between my folds, grinding them over my clit.

Ivan was rock-hard when he kissed me. I wonder if he’s out there now, frantically stroking himself to a quick, messy orgasm before I come out of the shower. Before I come?—

I bite my lip hard, my breath catching in my throat. I could come like this. I’m so close. But at the last second, as I roll my fingers over my swollen clit, I yank them away.

I have to fight this. I can’t give in.I’m so close to letting Ivan off the hook. Making excuses for him that I shouldn’t. And every time I make myself come thinking of him, I’m edging closer to aline that I shouldn’t cross. One that will send me into his arms, and make it all but impossible to drag myself out again.

Forcing my thoughts away from the throbbing between my thighs and the possibility of what Ivan is doing outside, I finish my shower, drying off with the thin, rough towel on the hook outside. I drag on a pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt that I got when we went shopping, hoping that the less-than-sexy outfit will be enough to deter Ivan from kissing me again. From wanting me. But the minute I walk out of the bathroom, he looks up at me, and I see his gaze darken.

When he stands up, I see the outline of his erection, still pressing stiffly against the fly of his jeans. I see the muscle in his jaw twitch as he walks past me, my breath caught in my throat at how unfairly gorgeous he is.

He’s going to jerk off in the shower. I know it.There’s no way he’s going to deny himself that relief. The door closes hard behind him, and I sink down on the edge of the bed, gripping the sides of it as if it takes physical effort to keep from following him into the shower.

I could have him inside of me right now.I feel that throb between my legs, my chest constricting, the thought making me breathless.

I can’t pretend that I don’t want him. But I can fight it.

I flop back on the bed, turning out all the lights except for the one right next to me as I skim through a book, not really focusing on anything on the pages. Twenty or so minutes later, I hear the shower turn off, and Ivan walks out, still toweling off his wet hair. He’s put on a pair of sweatpants and nothing else yet, his t-shirt tossed over the arm of the chair, and my stomach tightens at the view of him shirtless, his chiseled torso covered in swirls of black ink.

My fingers itch to trace over those lines. To slide over them until he’s hard and begging for me to touch lower. I want torepaint those designs with my fingers while I slide my lips over him, feeling every muscle twitch as I run my lips and tongue over his cock. I want?—

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I roll over on my side, trying not to look at him, trying to push that image out of my mind. I don’t know why tonight it’s harder than ever to ignore my attraction to him, but it feels like my body is screaming for him to touch me. For me to touch him. For us both to forget all of the reasons why we’re not supposed to do this any longer and justfeel.

I hear the familiar sound of him getting out blankets and pillows to sleep on the floor, and guilt once again washes over me. It’s not fair, and I know it’s not.

“Come sleep in the bed.” I roll over to face him, feeling a small burst of relief when I see that he’s put a shirt on. “There’s enough room for us both. You shouldn’t keep sleeping on the floor.”

In the low light, I see Ivan’s jaw tighten as he spreads a blanket out. “It’s fine,” he says tersely, his voice so tight that I wonder if he didn’t get himself off in the shower after all. If he’s still just as frustrated as I am.

Or maybe it’s not enough for him, either.

That thought makes the muscles in my stomach tighten, desire pooling lower, that tingling shiver washing over my skin. I force it away, focusing on the conversation at hand.

“You’re driving constantly,” I argue back. “You should get to sleep in the bed, too. I can put pillows between us, if the idea of accidentally touching me in the night bothers you so much.” The last comes out more acidly than I mean for it to, and I see Ivan’s hands go still in the process of smoothing out the blanket.

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