Page 87 of Body Language
Because I wasn’t sure if she meant under emotionally…
…or under me in the way I knew I’d regret.
She looked up at me, eyes glassy, lips trembling.
“Can you make me feel something else?”
I didn’t answer. Her eyes were already filling in the blanks, and mine were running wild with visions I didn’t want.
Visions of Niv pressed up against velvet, lips parted, head thrown back in laughter while Sincere whispered some slick shit in her ear. That smug smile he gave me at the club still gripped the back of my mind like a claw. I could see his hand on her waist. His mouth too close to hers. The way she leaned into him.
I hated how much that shit bothered me. Hated how I was gripping the fabric of Arlette’s damn couch like it owed me answers.
I stood up, pacing the floor like I was trying to outrun the thought of Niv getting soft for another man.
I knew what Arlette wanted. She wanted to disappear inside the version of me I used to be. The man who touched her without overthinking it. The man who didn’t flinch when she begged, who didn’t have a whole new woman under his skin.
Maybe for one night, I could give that to her. Or maybe I just wanted to punish someone… and she was the only one dumb enough to hand me the weapon.
She reached for me, and I didn’t stop her.
Her hands slid under my shirt like she still had the right. She was busy talking. Words I wasn’t hearing, promises I didn’t believe. My jaw locked when she kissed my neck, but I didn’t push her away.
I could feel myself spiraling, but I let her keep going.
She guided me down onto the couch, crawling over me like memory. Like manipulation.
I stared at the ceiling while she straddled me, whispering, “You remember how I used to make you feel?”
Yeah. I remembered, but I wasn’t trying to feel anything. I was trying to forget.
Forget the way Niv smiled at Sincere. Forget the softness in her voice when she said, “he’s just an old friend.” Forget how I wasn’t even officially her man, but felt like she just cheated on me anyway.
Arlette was touching me like I was hers, and I let her.
I let her take her time, let her say things that used to mean something. Let her kiss my scars and pretend like she had the right. But I didn’t kiss her back. I didn’t make it sweet. I didn’t even close my eyes.
Because I wasn’t there, I was at Niv’s door.
I was watching her walk away from me without hesitation.
When I finally touched Arlette, I mean really touched her, I wasn’t gentle.
I didn’t go slow. I didn’t care what she needed. I gave her what I had left.
Rough. Mindless. The kind of fuck that feels more like revenge than pleasure. She was moaning, clawing at me, calling me by name like it meant something. Like she was winning.
But the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking—
I wish this was her.
And that was the worst part.
Because no matter how deep I went…
No matter how loud Arlette got…
She would never be Niv.
