Page 61 of Drowning Erin

“Leave that poor label alone,” he says, and I’m forced to meet hiseye.

Their pale blue has turned foggy, like the grayest morning in autumn. He isn’t smiling. I take a big pull off the beer, the way a man would, out of sheer nerves. I’m sure it’s not an attractive sight, but there’s something that’s gone avid in his gaze. You’d think I just tied a cherry stem with my tongue or slowly sucked on a popsicle with the way he’s watching me. And in the space of that moment I remember him on Saturday night. Above me, flinching as he tried not to come. A muscle spasms low in myabdomen.

“What are you thinking?” heasks.

Oh God. I’m so caught. I can tell just by the way he asks, by the look on his face, that heknows.

“Nothing,” Isqueak.

I need to get out of here.Now. I set the beer down on the counter so quickly it wobbles. My hand shoots out to steady it, and his wraps around mine as he steps forward, eliminating the space betweenus.

Only our hands are touching but I feel the press of his skin everywhere—a chill at the base of my spine, firing through mybloodstream.

“I should go,” I whisper. His nod is barely there, more just a tip of the chin. He releases myhand.

I head across the room with absolutely no idea what I should say when I get to the door.See ya around? Don’t be a stranger?He follows in silence and I am hyperaware of his smallest sounds—his feet against the hardwood, hisbreath.

But when I reach the knob, his hand covers mine once more. “Wait,” hewhispers.

I turn to face him. “I—”

His hand curves around the back of my neck, and then his mouth is on mine. There is no time for me to object, though who knows if I actually would have. The spike of adrenaline that began when we both grabbed that beer bottle is now coursing through my veins, taking over. He kisses me until my breath comes in small wisps and my knees shake. The sound of his zipper sliding down may be my new favoritenoise.

“My room, now,” he says, breaking away as he starts to pull me past the couch. I allow myself to be led for a moment, but already I’m thinking of all the things we didn’t get to on Saturday night, all the missed opportunities I’ve been ruing. If we’re really doing this, I want to leave with fewer regrets than I had when Iarrived.

“No,” I say, pulling against his hand. I push him toward the nearest chair. “Sit.”

He raises a brow but does what I ask, perhaps as surprised as I to discover that I’m takingcharge.

I push his shorts to the floor and straddle him, sliding my hand between us, still outside the tight boxer briefs that leave almost nothing to the imagination. My fingers can’t quite wrap around him, but even through the fabric I swear I can feel him pulse. “Erin,” he growls, and moves as if he’s going to lift both ofus.

I press my mouth to his ear. “You need to learn somepatience.”

“Fuck that,” hehisses.

I laugh under my breath. We’ve barely begun but already triumph dances up my spine. It’s not some kind of supreme confidence in my own abilities. It’s simply that I’m so determined to walk away from this with what I want—the memory of him begging and desperate against my tongue—that I feel certain it willhappen.

I slide to the floor, pulling his boxers with me. I give him more of what he wants, but not enough, memorizing his groans and his hands tightening in my hair. It’s not until he begs, his breath labored as he thrusts upward, that I take him in mymouth.

“Oh Jesus,” he groans. His fingers press to my scalp and already I feel him swelling, wanting release and fighting it at the same time. “I’m gonna come,” he gasps too late, not that I’d planned on going anywhere. The pained noise he makes as he finishes is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in mylife.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looks down me. “Where the fuck did you learnthat?”

I laugh. “You really want me toanswer?”

He shakes his head and then joins me on the floor, pushing me to my back. “No, but at some point I’m probably going to ask you to do itagain.”

42

Brendan

Three YearsEarlier

At the end of June,Gabi arrives at my apartment with her suitcases, crying. She tells me her roommate kicked her out and asks if she can stay with me for awhile.

It gives me pause. Things are great with us just as they are, and I’d rather not mess with a winning formula. I already see Gabi nearly every day, and I spend every night with her when we’re on a tour. I’m not sure I’m ready to hand over my remaining moments of freedom, but what am I supposed to say? She’s got less than two months left, and she really has no place else to go. I tell her it’s okay, but even as I say it, I feel as if there’s slightly less air in the room than there was before shearrived.

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