Page 48 of Fallen Petal

Chapter 24

J

I can’t stop.

I can’t stop her.

I can’t stop myself.

I surrender the moment her lips connect with mine, dismissing the outside world. I have longed to taste her for so long, I don’t even recall what it’s like not to want her.

She tastes sweet, spiced with juniper and lemon that lace her hot lips. Her entire body is burning, emitting heat that is not caused by alcohol alone. There’s a strong claim in her kiss, something that surprises me. I expected her to be shy and cautious, even when she’s the one to take while I’m merely willing to give.

I carried her inside the house with intent, keeping her body close to mine, never interrupting our kiss while I make my way across the living room. A feeble squeal escapes her when I lower her down on the sofa, reversing our roles from before by hovering on top of her. Our erratic breathing fills the room, and she opens her legs for me, wrapping them around my waist as she demands me closer.

With each moment, each movement that brings us closer, the voices inside my head grow louder.

You can’t fuck her. You shouldn’t. It would mess with her head.

But everything about her begs me to do it, and even worse, she’s pleading for the things I have to offer, begging to be taken my way. She moans in approval when my grip around her tightens, she grabs my wrist, guiding my hand beneath her dress, closing her hand around my fingers with her flesh in between with such force that it could almost bruise her.

“I want you to hurt me,” she breathes, proving my suspicion.

She opens her eyes, and I’m relieved to find her gaze clear and aware, by far not as fogged as it was just a few minutes ago. She’s here for this. It’s not just drunken levity that feeds her urge, it’s something she truly wants but possibly doesn’t dare ask for.

“I know you want to, Jayson,” she goes on. “I know you want to do this to me. And I want you to.”

I hate how fucking right she is. And I’ve always suspected her to crave the things I offer. I wouldn’t be drawn to her if it was any different.

But it’s this very moment when I finally find it within myself to put an end to this. I freeze, my lips still on hers, still breathing in the same wild rhythm while my grip on her upper thigh tenses for a reason other than desire.

She just turned eighteen. She just graduated high school, and she’s about to leave this area soon, very soon. She’s supposed to leave. She’s supposed to go out in the world, to experience something new, unburdened and without the attachments that have slowed her for far too long. She needs to get away from her father, from her home—and the memories that put her down, even when they may not be clear to her.

I was the one who always encouraged her to do this. I’m the one who makes it possible for her to follow this dream.

I can’t mess it up for her. Not now. I can’t give her yet another battle to fight when she just won the first indication of freedom.

“We’re not doing this.”

My announcement is followed by a determined retraction. Her eyes follow me, a heavy shadow of disappointment cast over her pretty face as I get up and away from her as quickly as possible. It’s almost physically painful to remove myself from her like this. Every fiber of my body wants this, my heart still races like a wild animal and my cock stretches the denim of my jeans with such force that I can barely move without wincing.

This is the hardest battle I’ve ever fought, but I know I’m doing the right thing. Not for myself, but for her. There are already too many forces urging her to stay and put her own dreams on hold. Her overbearing father, Christopher, the long-term friend who I am sure is anything but happy in his current place in regard to her, her best friend, a loyal but uninspiring small-town girl without any ambitions outside the domestic bliss promised by safety.

She deserves more than that, and she wants more. But if I put my own desire before hers, I’ll only make it harder for her to leave. I know that.

Because I know we’d be good at this. We’d create fireworks.

It would be too good for her to leave. And I may not even let her if I knew exactly what I would say goodbye to.

“What did I do wrong?” she wants to know, casting me a hurt look as she sits up and fixes her dress. “Is it because I’m a virgin? Because I—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I cut her off in a harsh tone, trying to push away the agonizing knot inside my chest.

I could have been her first. And I said no.

I deserve a fucking medal for this.

“It wouldn’t be right, not now,” I say, trying to walk away from her. But she doesn’t let me. She jumps up from the sofa, her hand digging into my left upper arm as she holds me back.

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