Page 41 of Frozen Flames

I really wish I could.

I nod, if simply to appease her, as she massages my head.

“I love you, Harv.”

“I love you too.” I kiss her to mask the part of my brain that’s telling me that this is temporary, that come tomorrow my insecurities will eradicate my high and take over.

So instead, I focus on Gemma.

I remove her shirt and pull off her bra. Then I knead her tits and trace her collarbone with my thumb.

“You’re so fucking hot, babe,” I murmur.

She leans in and whispers compliments in my ear before she finally reaches for my jeans—the moment of truth.

I still then, knowing I’m not ready.

“We’ll just see what feels good,” she says, and I know she’s trying to help me, but my anxiety has already increased tenfold, and I’m not sure how to bring it down. I can see the plea in her eyes, begging me not to fuck this up, to give herthis one thing.

So I shut up and nod.

She unzips my jeans and reaches inside to touch my cock. Luckily, I skip boxers to facilitate my bathroom ritual. She takes her time, stroking me for a while, until my brain sends me signals that I want to ignore.

She continues touching me until I say, “Stop. It’s not working.”

She pulls back. “Alright. Let’s—”

“No. You don’tgetit. I’m so fucking horny in here.” I shove my finger against my temple. “But my dick won’t get fucking hard.”

“Look at me.” She grabs my neck with her hands. “We’ll relearn each other’s bodies. For now, we focus on what feels nice, and kissing and touching. What do you say?”

I want to say yes. I want to give her what she wants and needs.

What kind of man am I if I can’t even provide that?

“This sucks.” I close my eyes, and I suddenly realize what the circus inside my head was all about. Because I can feel the warmth against my hand.

When I open my eyes, I see that she’s turned away, but I don’t doubt for a second that she saw me wet my pants.

“You’ve got to be fuckingkidding me.”

In this moment, every ounce of blood in my body is laced with shame, my ego shattered to pieces.

“Leave, Gemma. Now!” I don’t recognize my own voice.

I’m trembling and shaking, and my high isn’t helping my train of thought. I want to rage and destroy my room, destroy my body, destroy myself.

My hands tighten into fists, and I bring them to my eyes, the anger tuning out everything else.

I grab a toy motorcycle gifted to me from my mom when I was a kid, and without even thinking twice, I throw it against the wall, satisfaction coursing through me as it breaks into a million pieces.

That’s me.

In a million pieces.

And no amount of glue oranythingwill put me back together the way I was.

And Irefuseto accept that.

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