Page 127 of The Golden Boys

There’s an intensity he exudes, and he needs the same in return. I willingly give it, grinding on him faster, harder as my arms lock around his neck. I give him everything. Every ounce of hate, every ounce of anger I have inside me, and he happily receives it, absorbing it all.

His fingertips dig deep into my hips and tension builds in my core. My breaths are quiet moans now and West swallows them down when he captures my mouth with a kiss. Leaning back, he brings me down on top of him. Then, my every move is guided by his hands, the churning of my hips in rough, grinding circles as he thrusts hard underneath me. The combination has me on the verge of a scream. His head pushes back toward the mattress, and he can hardly catch his breath. My fingertips tighten on his chest and I’m so close.

“Don’t … come yet,” he says with erratic pauses between the words, still controlling me.

“I’m not sure I can wait,” I warn. My body has a mind of its own and he’s so, so deep.

In an attempt to slow my mounting climax, he eases up a bit, slipping one hand upward to grip me just under my ribs. It feels like my heart is on the verge of beating out of my chest, but then a menacing smirk curves West’s lips.

Out of nowhere, he begins the assault once again, catching me completely by surprise. This time, I can’t hold out like he’s requested, but I’m guessing that’s the point.

“Don’t stop,” I mutter incoherently, squeezing my thighs tightly against him.

He continues to work my hips, grinding my body against his until I begin to quake all over. The powerful swell of tension between my legs mounts, peaking with a euphoric explosion I feel from the inside out. I revel in the moment only seconds before West’s body writhes beneath me. He thrusts his hips a few final times, gripping me so tightly it hurts, and then I have the unmatched pleasure of watching King Midas get his release.

It plays out through a series of high-inducing expressions. First, it’s unbelievably tense, followed by pure bliss, and finally it floods with calming relief. Right after, he lets out a breathy grunt and goes completely motionless beneath me.

I find myself staring down into his vibrant eyes, but neither of us speak. It’s that lack of words that leaves me a bit unnerved, overwhelmingly aware of what we’ve just done. From there, it doesn’t take long for the full scope of things to hit me. Then, in an instant, I’m an insecure mess on the inside, hoping West doesn’t notice.

That insecurity grows and I move to climb off him, thinking a bit of space might help clear my head, but just as I do, his arm holds me in place. Locked against him, there’s tenderness in the touch I’m not sure he means for me to notice, but I do. Maybe because I’m so desperate for that, some sort of sign that I’m not the only one who just felt that—the blinding energy that just exploded between us.

His lips part and he has my full attention, thinking he’ll speak. Thinking he’ll say something that will further drive away this heavy sense of dread. Despite life having taught me that putting any measure of hope into a guy like West is a risk.

His chest moves when his breathing picks up again, and his gaze lowers to my mouth. Being held like this, I feel so much. Things I’ve already sworn I’ll deny feeling until the day I die. But I notice something. It’s slight but doesn’t get past me.

As West scans my face with a quick, sweeping look, his grip on me loosens and, just like that, he’s suddenly someone else. The shift leaves me breathless and I feel like the rug has been snatched out from underneath me.

Whatever false reality being intimate had just erased for him, it comes flooding right back to him like a storm surge. I can’t help but to hear his words again. That our truth would be revealed through this single act.

Maybe that’s what this is. Our revelation.

I move aside when West slips from underneath me without any kind of comfort,and then storms toward the bathroom. There’s anger in his stride, in those rolling hills of his shoulders and back and, watching him, my chest tightens with grief.

There’s not a question in my mind of whether I’ve made a mistake. Only of the magnitude and lasting impact it will have.

He pauses at the bathroom door but doesn’t turn. For the fraction of a second, that inkling of hope returns, but then it’s snatched away with three little words.

“You should go.”

Then, he disappears around the corner, slamming the door behind him. The sound has me shaken, and I’m frozen in disbelief for a moment.

He wouldn’t just do that. I know we’re screwed up, but … just dismissing me?

But then it registers, and I realize what this was. Just sex. Nothing more than that, and now he wants me gone. Just like he’d demand with any other girl.

It’s pride that draws me to my feet on autopilot, stifling the many emotions beginning to swirl inside me. Through tear-blurred vision, I’m in search of my clothes, knowing that, for my own sanity, I cannot still be here when he gets back.

If I’m going to hold it together, I have to get as far away from him as possible and go right into emotional-damage-control-mode. But before I can even get that far, I’m beating myself up. It starts the second I flee from his suite with my shoes in hand, trying not to hyperventilate as I rush to my own room in an epic walk of shame, fumbling with the key at the door.

How could you be so stupid?

Did you really not see this coming?

You’re so screwed. You’re so broken. You’re officially a slut. At least with Ricky, it meant something. To you. To him.

Damn.

I make it inside and don’t bother with the light. If I have to look at myself in the mirror, I might not be able to pull it together. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done, and there’s no taking it back.

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