Page 112 of Heartbeat

“But it’s never snooping; It’s not weird or anything. You only do it when it’s two people who seem happy.”

I tilted my head. Not long after, though, he frowned.

“I also notice how you’re sad,” he said softly.

“I told you. Therapy was—”

“No, not just today. That’s not what I meant.” He shook his head.

“Oh.”

“I don’t like it that you’re sad,” he said, staring at me in a way that made me a bit uncomfortable.

I felt completely naked. “Well, if you don’t—” I tried hard to look chill.

“No, don’t do that,” he quickly interrupted me. “Don’t make a joke.”

I instantly turned serious, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact all of a sudden.

“I wish I could make it better, you know? Reach in and just…yank it out of you.” He lifted his hand and made a fist midair, quickly moving it upward and back, almost as though handling a whip. “But I know it doesn’t work like that,” he said, and suddenly I wasn’t able to breathe. “I just—I just want you to know that I see it. I see it, Tom.”

I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to tell him he did make it better. I wanted to cry, to let him see me cry, but I…I didn’t. Instead, I moved closer to him, cupped his face, and leaned in slowly until finding his lips, kissing him as softly and for as long as I possibly could.

I pulled away, and he smiled, turning me around and getting on top of me. As he did, I could feel his breathing getting shallow. He placed both hands over my stomach and moved them to the sides before lifting my T-shirt and having me take it off. There was such an intensity in his eyes it was almost impossible to focus on anything else. He kissed me without moving the hair that covered my face and grunted when I slid my hands on his sides and carved my fingernails deep into his skin. I pulled him toward me while he kept one hand around my neck and pressed his thumb on my chin, making me lean my head back, arching my back, before finally moving up and finding my mouth, kissing me. I was instantly robbed of air, as though my lungs had been drained, and all I had was the air he was allowing me to share. For as long as I had his lips on mine, it felt as though time itself had slowed.

“Tell me you have condoms here,” I said, breathless.

“I thought… you…had some,” he told me, mid-kiss.

“Fuck! Don’t say that, Ethan!” I sighed, unable to hide my frustration.

Yet, he smiled.

“Say that again?” He asked, grinning.

He refused to stop kissing me as he answered my questions, which was so fucking hot.

“What?” I asked.

“My… name…”

“Ethan,” I said, and he kissed me harder. “Ethan…” I repeated, burying my fingernails into his skin, trying to keep the distance between our bodies nonexistent.

He moved his body up against mine, cupped my face with both hands, and bit my lip so hard it probably drew blood. But I just wanted him to go harder, kiss me deeper. I could barely keep it together.

“I can’t believe we used that whole box already,” he said, in between kissing my neck.

“I can’t believe we won’t finish this,” I panted, “p-properly.”

“Oh, we’ll finish,” he said, so very determined.

Next thing I knew, he was running his hands down my chest, kissing it until reaching my hip, and making me instantly arch my back as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled it up. I raised my hands above my head and pushed them against the glass. All I could think of was how his tongue felt and how I absolutely wished for nothing more than to have him doing that for as long as humanly possible. I could barely keep my eyes open, but when I did, I could see the sky had now turned into the deepest indigo.

*

When I woke up, I turned and found him sleeping on his stomach next to me. He’d talked about how I supposedly slept like the dead, but he wasn’t much different—at least not that night. I don’t know how long I watched him before I slowly sat up and reached for my phone on the nightstand.

Seven past ten p.m.

---