Page 94 of Sinful Like Us
I shake my head. “I deserve hell.”
“You deserve to be happy,” Jane combats with so much conviction, and I hear my grandma’s soulful voice—be happy.
It’s not a single step into happiness. Not for me. To let myself have that is five-hundred klicks away, and my trek only just began when I chose something happy in my life, for once.
When I chose Jane.
I cup her cheek. The plaid blanket slips off her shoulder, heat brewing between us.
I put words into the quiet. “I can be happy without sex for a night.” Really, I might be fooling myself this one particular night.
She lifts her chin. “So can I.” She puts her hands on my flexed abs in attempt to shove me back, but she applies no force.
We stare into each other.
We breathe heavier.
“I don’t need you,” Jane suddenly whispers.
Something sharp impales my chest. “Say again?”
“I don’tneedyou.” In the candlelight, I can see her eyes reddening. “I can get myself off.”
I go rigid. “I don’t doubt that, but would you rather have your fingers or my cock, honey?”
She intakes a staggered breath. “My fingers.”
I squint at her, my pulse on a seasick free-fall. “You’d rather have yourself than have me?” I’m confused as all hell.
Jane blinks rapidly, shaking cobwebs out of her head. “Your cock is just an appendage. It’s a fact.” She’s trying to isolate feelings from sex.
I glare at the window, then try to soften my eyes when I set them back on her. “My cock is attached to my body, and trust me when I tell you that every time I’m inside your pussy, it’s never some vapid, emotionless thing.”
She opens her mouth, but words are stuck on her tongue. “I…”
“My cock is yours, but I’m not a sex toy. I’m better because I love you, and I will fuck you with nothing less thanlove, Jane.”
She holds onto my waist like her knees are about to buckle. “I…yes—no. No.” She inhales. “I’m fine with my fingers.”
“You are?” I think she’s conning herself.
Jane blows out a measured breath. “I don’tneedyour love.”
It sucker-punches me.
“I want it,” she clarifies quickly. “But like in this instance, I don’t need it. I can survive on my own.” She looks pained, and she holds my hand that encases her cheek. Like she doesn’t want me to let go, but her palm still rests on my abs, a millisecond from shoving me back.
We’re both at war with ourselves.
I force down a raw emotion that I’ve never felt before, not like this. I’m realizing in my attempt to punish myself, I’m pushing her away from me and towards whatever’s been pressing her lately. I’m going to lose Jane if I keep this same masochistic course.
It’s all or nothing.
And I want all of her. I always have.
I dip my head and whisper against her ear, “What if I don’t want to survive without you?”
An aching noise expels from her lips, and I release my hold of her cheek and fist the back of my shirt, pulling the fabric over my head. Bare-chested, I undo the buckle of my belt.
