Page 23 of Still Beating

But it’s also his fuel. Before I know it, his hand has trailed down my cheek, gliding along my waist, my hip, my thigh, until he’s gently parting my legs. I feel the tip of him settle at my entrance and everything becomes too real. I make a sound I can’t even describe—a mewl, maybe. Ripped straight from the torrent of disbelief spiraling through my core.

“I’m so sorry.” He pulls back from my mouth, his head falling against my shoulder as he pushes inside me. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Around, around, and around.

Left, then right. Slow and careful and kind.

Up and down.

He’s tracing my vein.

Like art.

I can pretend this is something beautiful.

Dean is kissing me again, his cock filling me, pulsing in and out with hurried thrusts. He feels big and thick, unlike vile Earl who was pumping into me only yesterday.

Around, around, and around.

Our tongues are battling, desperate to erase everything that’s happening—everything that’s happened. Justeverything. Dean’s right hand is holding up my leg and perching it over his hip. His fingers are digging into the fleshy side of my thigh, squeezing lightly as he moves in and out of me. In and out. In and out.

Around, around, and around.

I can hear the putrid monster beside us breathing heavily, groaning in pleasure at the display. At the fucking entertainment we’re providing.

Around, around, and around.

I need to focus. I need to block out Earl and this basement and the smell of imminent death in the air.

Dean.

There is only Dean.

And it doesn’t matter that he’s inside me, spearing me deep, forcing tiny whimpers from the back of my throat. He’s here. He’s alive. We’rebothalive.

We’re in this together.

He’s still kissing me, his tongue getting clumsier as his thrusts quicken and his body tenses. He’s going to come.

Around, around, and around.

I keep my eyes closed. I don’t want to see his face in this moment—I don’t want to witness his pleasure. And it’s not because I’m angry or blameful. I’m envious. I’m envious he’s able to find a pocket of happiness, of joy, of authentic bliss, in the midst of our shared nightmare. We’re in this together, yes, but for a moment—for a few blinding, potent seconds—we will be worlds apart.

Dean’s hand slides up my thigh and grips my bare ass, his opposite hand still leaving whispers and apologies along my wrist.

Around, around, and around.

And then he peaks, trying to mask his groan of pleasure as he buries his face into the curve of my neck. Dean clings to me through the aftershocks, holding me like a cherished lover. But I’m not. I am merely a pawn in Earl’s game. We are both pawns.

Dean inhales a deep sigh, almost choking on the weight of the breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeats it over and over, devastation flooding him. Remorse has replaced the euphoria, and my own envy has faded. I can feel his hot tears fall against my collarbone.

Earl reminds us of where we are and why we’re here—as if we could possibly forget. “That was fucking beautiful. I came so hard I saw stars,” he growls, his husky laugh making me want to vomit.

Dean is still inside me, softening, yet incapable of leaving me just yet. Maybe he’s still pretending.

I don’t blame him.

“Time’s up, lover boy,” Earl snaps.

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