Page 107 of Still Beating

I look away, the feelings swirling inside me proving too much. Too intimate, too powerful, tooreal.

This can’t be more than sex.

Dean pinches my chin between his thumb and finger, gently turning my face back towards him. “Why can’t you look at me, Cora?” He’s still moving inside me, but not as hard. Not as fast. His strokes are languid and deliberate, almost like he’s trying to tell me something.

But the last thing I want to do is talk about our feelings when he’s balls deep inside of me, so I clasp his face between my palms and crash our mouths back together. I push my tongue between his lips and he lets me in, his hips moving quicker when our tongues begin to dance. I’m an arrow to his heart—a dagger to his defenses. He knows what I’m willing to give and he takes every piece, every breath, every accidental crumb.

And then we’re grinding against each other, nails scratching, tongues vicious and angry, bodies full of raw desperation. I open my mouth to speak, suddenly craving more. I’ll never know if it was the goddamn wine, or maybe I’m just irrevocably fractured, but three words spill from my mouth that make Dean go still: “Tie me up.”

He looks at me, a light sheen of sweat casing his brow, his blue eyes wide and troubled. He halts all movement, and even his breathing goes shallow. I stare up at him, wishing I could swallow those words back down.

He deflates then, like a child’s balloon or a wounded animal. Like I stole something precious right out of his hands. Dean pulls out of me and drops his forehead to mine as I sit there in silence, my legs still wrapped around him. “Fuck,” he mutters, but not out of anger—not out of spite. It sounds like hopelessness. He untangles himself from me and steps back, tugging his jeans up over his hips.

Heat flames my cheeks as I rest propped up on my elbows, spread eagle and exposed. I feel like he can see right through me, right into my tormented center, where my guts and ghosts and darkest parts are utterly vulnerable. I snap myself into action and slip down from the table, pulling up my sweatpants without meeting his eyes.

“What the hell, Cora?”

I spare Dean the tiniest glance as I smooth out my hair. He’s facing me, fingers perched on his hips, his gaze riddled with heedful regard. “It was nothing. Forget it.” I storm past him, making my way to the bedroom. “I assume we’re done here, so feel free to let yourself out.”

He’s hot on my heels. “No. We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Are you kidding me?” He grabs my wrist, spinning me around as we enter the bedroom. His tone turns sober, his shoulders dropping. “This isn’t okay.”

“Then, go. I’m not keeping you here.”

Dean’s jaw clenches as he tries to hold back his frustration. “I thought I could do this. I thought I could live with whatever the fuck this is, whatever scraps you were willing to give me… but this iskillingme. It’s killing both of us.”

I repeat my statement slower, putting emphasis on each word. “Then, go.”

“Is that what you want?” His hands rise, resting on my shoulders, and his breath catches. “Because when I walk out that door, I’m not coming back.”

His words do something to my heart. They wrap around the bleeding organ, squeezing the life out of it. “I can’t have what I want,” I say, my voice weak and frayed.

Dean lets out a breath, dipping his chin. “This isn’t healthy, Corabelle. We can’t thrive like this. We can’theallike this. You told me in your car that night at The Oar that I was holding you underwater, that you couldn’t breathe, and I made myself believe it wasn’t true—I wanted to believe that weneededeach other. That we had to cling and fight and claw our way out of this together.” He shakes his head with surrender in his eyes. “But you were right. We’re drowning here… and I’m gonna fuckin’ lose you if we don’t come up for air.”

My emotions start to soar like waves crashing down, drenching me in bitter truths. “I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to keep you.” My tears fall fast, landing on my lips, tasting like the salty sea. “I’m just sinking.”

“That’s why we have to stop, Cora.” Dean tightens his grip on my shoulders and the pain is evident in his eyes. “I need you healthy. I need you put back together, smiling and alive and glowing. I think you’re still living in that basement, and as long as you’re tied to me, you’re tied toit. You need to get the hell out of there. You need to be free.”

I’m shaking my head, my face a mask of heartache. “I can’t let go of you.”

“Then letmelet go ofyou.”

“No. Dean… please.” I reach for his shirt, clutching the fabric in my fists. Holding on for dear life. “You said we could start over. Maybe we just need a few days to think and regroup, and then…”

“It’s too late.” He kisses my forehead, inhaling deep. “It’s too late to start over.”

I lift my chin, finding his lips and pressing a kiss to his mouth. “But I…” I trail off. I drift away, choking on the words.

Dean frames my face with his hands, kissing me again, light and tender. “You what?” He pulls away to search my eyes, smoothing back my hair.

“I love you.”

I think both of our hearts skip a beat—thesamebeat. And I feel like that must mean something.

Dean’s eyes slowly close, as if he’s absorbing those words, replaying them over and over in his mind. Carving them into the deepest layer of his soul. “Shit,” he mutters quietly. “You’re making this so damn hard.”

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