Page 49 of Endless Love

Frustration wells up in my chest, hot and thick. She wants me. She was trying to get me to fuck her, trying to get pleasure from me without admitting how she feels. Without making herself face howIfeel. And I can’t help the agitation that wells up in me, knowing that she’s pushing me away because she can’t accept wanting me as I am.

She can’t accept that she wants a criminal. That a criminal loves her. That she loves me, too.

I’d bet money that she does. Ironic, considering where we’re going. But she’s planning to leave me there, just as soon as she can.

I brace my hands on either side, curling my fingers against the rough wood of the log. I almost gave in. Almost gave her what we both want. But if I do, that’s all it’ll ever be.

Glancing over at the tent, I feel a flood of guilt. I should be in there, helping keep her warm. Now that the worst of the storm of lust has passed, I have no real excuse to be out here, leaving her alone.

I slip back into the tent, under the blanket next to her, leaving an arm’s length between us. I can’t tell if she’s sleeping or just pretending to, facing away from me on her side, the rhythmic movement of her breathing visible under the blanket.

There’s very little chance that I’m going to sleep at all. I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, my chest aching. Iwantto fall asleep, to get some rest for the days ahead, but all I seem to be able to do is run through the litany of memories that I have with Charlotte, thinking back to every moment when I might have been able to do something different. Where I might have been able to change how things went between us.

In the morning, I wake before she does, as if the silent chill of our out-of-the-way campsite has lulled her into a deeper sleep than she’s managed in days. There’s a certain safety to where we are, a feeling that we won’t be found, and whether that’s actually true or not, I can see how it might have earned her a better night’s sleep.

I wish I could say the same.

I wake curled against her, my body having sought hers out during the night despite everything, my arm draped over her waist. I lie there for a few moments, still, wanting to soak up the feeling of having her so close to me.

After what happened last night, I have every intention of not sleeping in the same bed with her again. Regardless of her protests, I don’t think I can take another night of being so close to her, another morning waking pressed up against her like this.Everypart of me aches to be closer to her, to the point that even my hard cock feels like an afterthought. And this morning, I’m filled with something very close to regret.

I’ve never opened up to anyone the way I did with her last night. And now, in the cold daylight, I’m not sure that I should have. I let her see more of me than anyone else ever has, and it didn’t make a difference. I feel raw this morning, like an open wound, and there’s nothing to salve it. Even her closeness, at this point, only makes it feel worse—a reminder of what I can almost touch, but never actually have.

I should have known better than to ever start anything with her.I want to shove the thought away as soon as it enters my mind, but it lingers, an unwanted heaviness on my mind and my heart.

She feels so good, pressed up against me. Warm and soft, a promise of something I can never have. A dream that I want to keep going back to, again and again.

I feel her start to stir, and I pull back, clenching my teeth against the wave of need that washes over me. I don’t want to pack up and get back on the road. I don’t want to keep driving, all the way to where Charlotte Williams will be erased and replaced with a woman who will walk away from me and do her best to forget that any of this ever happened.

I want to stay here with her. Right here, pretending that the world can pass us by while I lose myself in her, over and over again.

Pushing myself up from the mat, I stifle a groan as I reach for my bag. I’m far from old, but so many nights of sleeping on the floor—and now a mat on the ground—not to mention days and days of driving, is doing a real number on my back. I reach for my bag, quietly unzipping it to get my clothes out, and I hear her shift behind me.

“Ivan?” Her voice is sweet, sleepy, and something tugs hard in my chest at the sound of it. But I shove it down, refusing to let myself soften for her again. It’s not getting me any closer to her forgiveness, and it feels like it’s tearing me apart.

“We should get on the road.” Even I wince at how curt my voice sounds, but I tell myself it’s for the best. If all she wants from me is temporary pleasure until we part ways, that’s not what I can offer her. Continuing to pretend anything else will only keep hurting us both.

I hear her shift behind me, silence falling heavily in the tent. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her wrap her arms around herself, looking away as if my comment cut her deeply.

Grabbing my clothes out of the bag, I lean forward and unzip the tent, slipping out. I’d rather dress in the cold morning outside than keep suffocating in the tense hurt between us.

I have the car packed up by the time Charlotte slips out of the tent, wearing slim jeans that make it hard for me to drag my gaze away from her legs, a soft-looking grey pullover hoodie, and her denim jacket over top of it. Her outfit is plainer than anything I ever saw her wearing in Chicago, but she looks so utterly beautiful all the same that I have to clench my hands into fists to keep from going to her, the bite of my nails against my palms bringing me back into the present.

Charlotte was made to torment me. It’s the only thing I can think as I pack up the tent in quick, jerky motions, trying not to think about last night—or waking up next to her this morning, or how much, in a few days, I’m going to miss her.

It feels unthinkable that she’s going to walk out of my life. But I can’t make her stay.

She’s already sitting in the passenger’s seat of the car when I toss the last bag in the back, and come around to slide in on my side. She doesn’t look at me, and I grit my teeth as I start the car, biting back everything I want to say.

This is over, Ivan. Just fucking accept it.

I can do what I set out to, and get her to Vegas safely. I can get her new identification, get her what she needs to start a new life. Maybe she won’t ever be able to put everything that she’s lost because of me behind her, but that’s not my problem. It’snot.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she says a little while later, her voice so soft that I almost don’t hear it under the growl of Guns & Roses from the radio. I swallow hard, wondering if I should just pretend that I didn’t.

“Me too,” I say finally, and Charlotte doesn’t say another word.

Halfway through the day, I pull into a gas station to refuel and get something to drink. I glance over at Charlotte as I pull up in front, but she doesn’t move, or give me any inclination that she wants to get out. So I just go in myself, keeping an eye on her every few seconds to make sure that she’s still safe.

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