Page 156 of Perfect
No, I’mnotthinking about it.
She stands up, taller in her heels and covered in thin green lace, and leans into me, kissing me slowly. I hold her tight, gripping her ass and tasting myself on her tongue as I deepen the kiss. I pick her up, setting her on the edge of the counter and slipping her thong off before I step in between her legs.
“I’m going to take such good care of you,” I whisper, and Alex looks up at me lovingly, taking my face in her hands and stroking my cheekbones.
“You do take care of me. You’re so good to me, Teddy.”
No, I’m not, but she doesn’t need to know that, and I’mnotthinking about it.
I loop an arm around her waist and hold her tightly, kissing her hard as I start to touch her soft, slick cunt. She loosely wraps her arms around my shoulders as I slip two fingers inside her, pulling away from the kiss and dropping her head against my shoulder. She pants into my skin as I slowly fuck her with my fingers, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses on my neck and chest.
I hold her close and take my time, loving the small, whining gasps she makes as I bring her to the edge. Once her leg starts to tense up, I back off, stilling my fingers and biting her neck gently. She whines, and I laugh when I feel her start pushing down on my shoulders.
I keep my fingers inside her as I get down on my knees for her, looking up at her for a moment. She smirks at me, her hands carding through my hair and pressing my face between her legs. I drag my tongue against her clit, sucking gently as I crook my fingers towards me, pulling out until I find the right spot and massaging her there while I alternate between sucking and flicking her clit with my tongue.
I listen to the soft whimpers she makes for me, working her until her leg tenses up next to me, and then I press a little harder, suck a little harder, bringing her closer and closer until I feel her clenching around me, her release coating my mouth and fingers as she moans out my name. When I look up at her, she’s flushed, looking down at me with a smug little smile.
“Good boy,” she whispers, grinning down at me. My head empties out, leaving nothing but a need to make her happy, so I bury my face between her legs again.
Making her happy is all I can think about.
I can’t think about the fact that I’m still lying to her, which is the principal thing she asked me not to do. I can’t think about the fact that I’m stillkind ofstalking her, which is also something she asked me not to do. I can’t think about the fact that she’ll leave me if I tell her the truth, or the fact that I’m so desperate to tell her the truth because I love her.
I’d lose my fucking mind if I thought about any of that, and there’s plenty of time to do that when we get back to Astoria.
I get one fucking weekend to be happy, so I work hard to lock all of it away and have a perfect weekend with my perfect girlfriend who loves the version of me she thinks she’s getting.We’re back to sharing a fantasy, except this time it’s real forher, and I do my best to lose myself in it, too.
I push down the thoughts, and I fantasize about her letting me put all the cameras back up and follow her around again, about getting full access to her at all times the way I want. I fantasize about moving her out of her shitty apartment and into my huge, depressing house and making it ahomewith her. I fantasize about killing her husband and giving her every part of her life back, and her turning around and sharing it all with me. I fantasize about marrying her, about building a life with her, about having a family with her, about getting to spoil the shit out of a kid with my eyes and her freckles and then getting to spoil the shit out of her for making me so fucking happy. I fantasize about spending the rest of my life making her happy in any way I can.
I ignore that I'm fantasizing about everything I want but can’t have, just like I’m ignoring everything else this weekend. I ignore that I’ve been trying to memorize the open looks of adoration she’s giving me because I know I’ll never see them again if she finds out what I’ve done. I ignore that Dr. Mills is probably right when she implies that I’m a manipulative fuck who’s abusing Alex. It isn’t what she says, but I can tell it’s what she thinks.
I especially ignore the fact that I know, deep down, taking the tracker out of Alex isn’t going to fixanything.
I force myself to stay in the bubble and have another perfect day with her. I take her hiking, and we go tide pooling afterward. We make love and lie in bed, talking and joking and holding each other for hours, and I drink myself to sleep in the middle of the night again. I’m on the brink of losing my shit, so I resolve to keep her in a hazy, slightly dissociated state with sex on her birthday.
She’ll love it, and she’ll be too zoned out to notice that I’m stressed.
The next morning, I spend a long time with my head between her legs until she wakes up in the middle of an orgasm, and then I pin her down and fuck her mercilessly. She’s blissed out and dreamy when I make her French toast and give her more gifts, and then I tie her up on the couch and shove a vibrator between her legs as I touch and kiss every inch of her body, forcing her to come until she’s a tired, crying mess.
She’s barely coherent when I take her to the spa, and she practically floats out two hours later because she’s so relaxed and happy and, most importantly,thoughtless.
I drive us home that afternoon, reveling in her dreamy, giddy happiness and pushing down the feelings that get harder to ignore the closer we get to home.
We go to her place, and I put away all the gifts I have finally badgered her into accepting before I give her soft, slow head. I make her come over and over to keep her distracted, because I’m barely holding it together.
Afterward, I draw her a bath, pour her a glass of wine, and leave her to relax while I make her dinner and a cake, trying not to hyperventilate. I dote on her and cling to the happiness I can when she tells me she loves dinner, she loves the cake, and she loves me. I open a bottle of champagne, get her a little drunk, and give her a small, wrapped box with a set of my house keys in it.
She's so ecstatic she fuckingcries, and I fight off a panic attack.
She goes to bed happy and spoiled and relaxed, having noticed nothing wrong with me, and I lay in bed with her in my arms, all the thoughts and feelings I’ve been fighting off for days worming their way back into my brain and body. I pull Alexcloser as a black hole opens inside of me, sucking away all the happiness from this weekend.
None of it was real in the first place.
I’ve fucking ruined everything,again, except this time I’ve ruined my life instead of hers.
All the therapy has ruined any chance of me being happy. Alex wanted me to try hard in therapy, and I wanted her to love me, so I tried really fucking hard for her, and I wish I hadn’t. Enough of the shit I’ve begrudgingly learned has gotten through to me to know that, by her own definition, Alexcan’tlove me back.
I wouldn’t have known or cared when I was in my delusion, but now I fucking care. Now I don’t want her to love me back unless it’s real, unless I’ve actually earned it.
