Page 53 of Hate the One You're With
“She decided to wait until she was twenty-five. Something about moving to the other side of the country, working hard and making it on her own. She didn’t need the money,” she says. “But if she did that, then our parents wouldn’t get the help they needed, so I convinced her to do it. I kind of pushed her, telling her our lives would be over if she didn’t help.”
I remember it right, those nights where we would discuss her future. She was thinking about moving to San Diego or . . . there were other states she could go that were more affordable than New York. She could work and one day go back to college.
“She didn’t need the money,” I say out loud. “She did it for them—for you.”
“Uh-huh,” she admits. “She didn’t buy you. She’s thoughtful you know? I know all the lies I said about her didn’t help. Like that pregnancy test at seventeen—it was mine. I wasn’t holding it for her. She was a virgin until . . . Well, I’m not sure when she lost it, but it was sometime during college, I think.”
It was . . . Fuck. Just the thought of that first time of how innocent but eager she was. We had been fooling around forawhile, some innocent kisses, touching her with clothes, making her ache wanting my hands and my mouth . . . her fingers. I had so much fucking fun teaching her how to touch herself while I told her what to do.
Until that night.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Caleb
Twenty-year-old Caleb. . .
That night when she said she was ready for me, that she wanted me. We were in her Brooklyn apartment. The faint glow of a lamp cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the mix of nerves and excitement in her eyes.
She was standing in front of me, barefoot on the worn hardwood floor, wearing an oversizedsweatshirt—one of mine, I think the red one. It hung on her in the most endearing way, making her look even smaller, more delicate, though she had no idea just how fucking beautiful she was.
There was something so vulnerable in her then, a softness that reached into the deepest part of me. It wasn’t just about desire—it was about something far more profound. I wanted to protect her, to cherish her, to make sure she knew just how precious she was to me.
As I kissed her, I could feel the weight of that responsibility, the need to be gentle, to take my time, because this moment was more than just physical—it was the start of something new, something that felt almost sacred.
Her lips were soft, tentative at first, as if she was testing the waters, unsure but willing. And the sweetness of that kiss nearly undid me. I wanted to give her everything, to show her that she wasn’t just another girl to me—she wasthe girl. My wife. The one I was starting to fall madly in love with, who made me want to hold back and savor every second, to make sure she felt adored, treasured.
As I held her, our bodies close, it wasn’t just about satisfying the need burning between us. It was about connecting with her on a level that went beyond the physical. I wanted her to know she was safe with me, that I would never rush her, never take more than she was ready to give. I could feel the trust she placed in me, the way she opened herself up, and it made my chest ache with something that was almost overwhelming in its intensity.
In that moment, the kiss wasn’t just a prelude to something more—it was everything. It was the promise of what we could be together, of how I’d hold her close and never let go, how I’dcherish every touch, every whispered word, every heartbeat we shared. It was a kiss that meant something more than just passion—it was filled with tenderness, with the kind of love that’s slow and steady, the kind that lasts.
And as I kissed her, I knew I was falling in love with her, even if I didn’t have the words for it yet. She was everything—my past, my present, and if I had anything to say about it, my future too.
When I pulled back to look at her, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing shallow. “Are you sure?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through my rib cage.
She nodded, biting her lip, a spark of determination in her eyes that I’ll never forget. “I want this,” she whispered back, her voice shaky but sure. “I want you.”
That was all it took. The last of my restraint snapped, and I kissed her again, deeper this time, letting her feel just how much I wanted her. I guided her back onto the couch, the cushions sinking beneath us as I hovered over her, my fingers slipping under the hem of that damn sweatshirt, finding the warm, soft skin beneath.
She gasped at the touch, her body arching slightly, pressing into me, and it was like a switch flipped inside her. The hesitation melted away, replaced by this raw, unfiltered need that matched my own.
I remember how careful I was, how I took my time, even though every instinct urged me to rush. I wanted her to feel everything, to know that this wasn’t just some fling. I wanted her to know how much she meant to me, even if I couldn’t say the words. The way she looked at me, like I was the only thingthat mattered, made my heart twist in my chest. She was so fucking innocent, but there was this fire in her, a passion that ignited the second I touched her.
As I reached for the hem of her sweatshirt, I paused, my fingers grazing the soft fabric. “You okay?” I asked, my voice low, hoping she could hear the care behind my words.
She nodded, her eyes wide and trusting. “I’m okay,” she whispered, but there was a tremble in her voice, a mix of excitement and nerves.
I smiled, wanting to put her at ease. “We’ll take it slow,” I assured her, lifting the sweatshirt gently. “We don’t have to rush.”
She let out a breath she’d been holding, and as I lifted the sweatshirt over her head, her arms raised to help me. I kissed her collarbone, letting my lips linger there as the sweatshirt fell to the floor. Her skin was warm, soft under my touch, and I felt her shiver—not from cold, but from anticipation.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured against her skin, my voice filled with awe. “You know that, right?”
She blushed, a shy smile curving her lips. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it,” I insisted, my hands sliding up her sides to cup her face. I wanted her to see the truth in my eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone like you, Em.”
Her breath hitched, and I could feel the tension in her body start to melt away. I reached behind her, my fingers deftly unclasping her bra. “Is this okay?” I asked, giving her one last chance to change her mind.
