Page 138 of Can You Take It?

He grins, looking a bit sheepish. “Hey, I was just looking out for you. Had to make sure he wasn’t some creep.”

“Martin, a creep? You clearly haven’t met him. He’s the biggest dork ever.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” Richard defends himself. “All I saw were the messages.”

“Which were totally innocent,” I point out, nudging him playfully. “You’re such a worrywart.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks, his eyes softening. “I care about you.”

I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “I know, and I love that about you. But next time, maybe just ask instead of snooping?”

He laughs, a genuine sound that lightens the mood. “Alright, I’ll ask. But you have to promise you’ll be honest with me.”

I look away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Which I haven’t been.”

He furrows his brow. “Hey, don’t—”

“No, I get it,” I cut him off. “I have lied to you. About a lot of things.”

His expression shifts to something more serious. “Izel...”

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? You’re always going to suspect me, question everything I do.”

Richard reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I want to trust you.”

“But you can’t,” I insist, shaking my head. “And it’s not your fault because you can’t help it. It’s who you are. And I…”

I don’t get to finish my sentence as the car comes to a stop. I look out the window and realize we’ve pulled up at my front porch. The conversation gets cut short, just like that. Maybe we’ll never have it again. Maybe I don’t want to.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask, turning to Richard.

He looks at me. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure that I don’t want to be alone right now. And I don’t think you do either.”

Richard nods, and we get out of the car. The walk to the front door feels like it takes forever. As soon as we’re through the door, it’s like a dam breaks.

Before I can even lock the door behind us, Richard’s hands are on my waist, pulling me close. I tilt my head up, and his lips crash against mine. It’s not gentle or sweet; it’s desperate and hungry, like we’re both trying to erase the terror of the past few hours.

“Fuck, Izel,” he breathes. “I thought I was going to lose you today.”

“I’m here,” I murmur against his mouth. “We’re both here.”

We barely make it to the living room. His jacket is the first to go, followed by my shirt. Buttons fly, and fabric tears as we claw at each other, needing to feel skin against skin. I push him onto the couch and straddle his lap, grinding against him as his hands move up my back, unhooking my bra.

Richard’s mouth is on my breasts in an instant, sucking and biting, leaving marks that sting and thrill me at the same time. His hands move down, tearing at my panties until they’re nothing but scraps on the floor.

“This couch isn’t exactly the best place to fuck,” I whisper.

“You won’t be thinking about the couch for long,” he growls, sliding his hand between my legs. His fingers brush my pussy, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

His fingers find my clit, rubbing circles that make my whole body shudder. I want him inside me so badly, but I know better than to rush him. Richard likes to take his time, to draw out every moment until I’m begging for him.

His fingers move faster, and I can’t control myself anymore. My hips buck against him, chasing that edge he always takes me to. My hands fly out, searching for something to hold on to, but instead of grabbing onto him or the couch, one of my fingers hits something hot.

The heat feels too familiar, and I’m not ready for it. The warmth licks at my skin, just like it used to, crawling up my arm like an old memory that I’d buried a decade ago.

You’d think after all these years, I’d have learned to stop reaching for things that burn. But no. I keep my hand there, letting the fire creep closer, daring it to hurt me again. That’s the thing about being human—we’re masochists at heart. We’d rather feel something, even pain, than feel nothing at all. It’s almost funny, in a tragic sort of way.

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