Page 176 of The Young & the Sinner

My voice cracked at the end, and I hated that.

“I don’t have a good enough reason for you,” he said, his eyes turning red.

I shook my head. “You were supposed to love me. Only me.”

He flinched. His hold on me tightened. I wasn’t sure if that made everything worse or better, considering I still craved his touch.

“I do love you. More than my own life, I swear it.”

It was my turn to flinch. “Do you love her?”

“Who?”

“My mom. Do you love her?”

He hesitated, but that was answer enough for me. I backed away from him, but he followed, shaking his head. “No, don’t think that. I didn’t love your mom. I don’t now. I only love you.”

How was I supposed to believe him? I moved further into the room, knowing I was only moving further away from the exit, but I needed to get away from him. I tripped over my discarded shirt instead, left there days ago. It felt like a lifetime. I didn’t have the energy to get back up.

He came down to me, hugging me to him. “I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

My eyes flashed as anger worked its way in my body. “How can you expect me to be okay with this?”

“Please, Olivia. I’m begging you. Forgive me. Please, baby.”

“I can’t,” I cried, burying my face in my hands. “Stop it. Let go,” I said when he tried to pull them away from my face. My hands were shaking. I knew he could feel the tremors. “Let go!”

I was mad. Mad at him, mad at myself, and mad at everything and everyone. I moved then, backing away with my feet.

“I can’t do it. I don’t know what to do anymore. How do you expect me to keep on being with you like before? I have—go,” I spit out. It was the only solution.

“You can’t leave me!” he cried out. “Not like this.” Without a thought he moved forward, wrapped me up in his arms and buried his face in my neck. I could feel his whispered words against my skin when he said, “You’re killing me, Livie.”

I shook, my body cold, before tightening my arms around myself even more. I didn’t know how to respond.

I could feel his heart beating through his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” But I didn’t know what he was apologizing for, and I didn’t know what to say.

I let out a strangled sob instead.

“I know,” he said softly, quietly. “I know you’re hurt. I know this hurts. But, please, we’ll figure everything out.”

“What’s there to figure out?” I whispered. “I don’t see how you could ever make this better.” And that was what hurt the most. I didn’t see how it wouldn’t lead to heartbreak.

He didn’t say anymore. Instead, he lifted me up in his arms.

I didn’t push him away.

I let him pull me in close, loving his warmth and touch, and hating myself for loving it. Loving him.

He laid me down and kissed me. Kissed me like this was the last time and he didn’t want to take a single moment for granted. I let him, kissing him back with equal fervor. He began to pull at my clothes until my pants and shirt were thrown carelessly on the floor.

Then he yanked off my panties, somewhat harshly, and I was naked before him.

He kissed his way down from my jaw to my chest. He stopped briefly at my breasts, taking one in his mouth and adding a small bite that had me gasping for air.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I grew aroused the longer he touched me, the ache between my legs that much harder to ignore when he had me spread out before him, his mouth so close to me, I could feel his hot breath.

I moaned when he covered my sex with his mouth, licking the opening before plunging his tongue inside.

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