Page 30 of No Limits

“Fuck.” It comes out a breathless groan.

As he starts to move inside me, I can’t help but think about how it all feels cheapened that he didn’t even remove any of our clothing. It’s not the first time, not by any means. But there’s no need to squeak in a quickie, no need to stay clothed. We’re alone, in our home, on a Sunday morning.

It feels cheaper this way.

I understand that maybe he was worried I’d change my mind, that he had to get started before I realized I don’t want to be doing this. But that wasn’t going to happen. No matter what is happening, I stilllovehim and want to be with him.

The thrusts grow harder and faster, a sure sign he’s getting closer. The sex is always amazing. Even the one time I didn’t have an orgasm, it still felt amazing. I don’t think there’s any way it couldn’t.

But something isn’t clicking.

Still, my body is reacting the way it normally does, and the pressure is starting to build in my lower belly. Whines ease through my lips and my hands latch onto Lochlyn’s shoulders.

His thumb finds my clit and makes small swirls, sending me over the edge. My back arches, and I moan loudly as I tighten around him. He’s not far behind with a guttural groan and a few jagged pumps inside me.

Breathing heavily for a moment, his forehead finds my shoulder, and he peppers kisses along my collarbone, up my neck, and to my lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” It’s the one truth I’ll always know.

“I’m going to go take a shower.” He pulls out, hopping off the bed and moving straight to the bathroom.

When I hear the shower door close, I turn to my side and curl into the fetal position, letting all the emotions out with the torrent of tears.

Connection. It’s what was missing. Our connection. He doesn’t even see it or realize it. Right now, he has no idea that I’m crying, and if he does, he doesn’t know why. I’m thankful he’s in the shower, because he can’t hear my sobs as they wrack my body when I think of how far we’ve fallen.

One of the harder things to face is that I may have to accept this as my life. He doesn’t see the problems, so he won’t change. And despite all I’ve said, all I’ve done, I don’t know how to make him see them.

Or the alternative. To end things. And that thought about kills me to the point that I hold my stomach and curl further in half. The thought alone makes a pain shoot through my body.

Leaving Lochlyn would be like severing myself in half, my heart, my soul, my entire being. Because that’s what Lochlyn is. That’s why this hurts so much and why it’s so difficult.

That doesn’t even seem like an option. But how do I accept this? With the neglect, with being cast to the side? Maybe I’ll get used to it with time. It’s a possibility. But there were so many things we wanted for our lives together that I don’t know how to reconcile what we wanted to what we have, could have, will have if things don’t change.

My sobs slowly subside, and my breaths begin to even out. Which is good timing because the shower just shut off. I have at most five minutes before Lochlyn is back out here. He may not be fully attuned to me lately, but he’d certainly hear and notice me crying. I think.

But if I get control of myself, if I stop and wipe my eyes, he’ll probably chalk the redness and any puffiness up to waking for the day. At least I hope so.

It’s not that I don’t want him to comfort me. I do. But part of me knows that it would be out of obligation. Does he actually want to? That…I don’t honestly know the answer to right now. I’d like to hope he does, that he still feels the same way about me I do about him, but I don’t know the answer to that.

Maybe that’s part of his concern too. He’s feeling a certain way and isn’t sure that I still love him. Communicating would be beneficial, and yet we can’t seem to figure out how to do that. Not without it turning into an argument.

Steam pours out of the bathroom, covering the ceiling as Lochlyn steps out of the bathroom, towel around his waist. My breath halts in my chest at his body and tattoos, still stolen by his absolute perfection.

“I was thinking maybe we switch from a DJ to a band. I mean, I have more than enough on my client list to be able to call in a favor. They’d give us a big discount if not do it for free as a wedding present.” He’s moved from the doorway to his dresser, pulling out clothes and slipping them on as though nothing’s wrong, as though my heart isn’t slowly ripping in two with every exchange that leaves me feeling unseen.

“Uh sure, whatever you want or think is best. You’re the music guy.” I try to make my tone light so he can’t hear the waver in my voice, or the stuffed-up sound of my nose.

Despite everything, I know that he’s not trying to hurt me. That’s never his intention and I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. There’s tension on both sides, concerns on both sides, and we’re at a point where we’re being too stubborn to bend and the other is paying the consequences of that.

At no point have I asked him how he feels about all of this, about us. I’m honestly too scared to. There are days he acts completely normal, like nothing has changed, that nothing’s different. Maybe this is another time like our first fight when I thought he was going to break up with me over a silly miscommunication.

It doesn’t help the feelings, the emotions, the overwhelming hole in my chest where the confidence in us used to reside. But it helps a little. If he didn't want to be with me, he’d show it in more than being focused on work.

“I just want you happy, baby girl. If a DJ is what you prefer, that’s fine too.” He sits on the edge of the bed and rests his palm on my hip. With narrowed eyes, he takes in my face. If he can tell I was crying, he says nothing. But the way his jaw ticks, I think he knows and doesn’t want to ask. Or maybe isn’t sure of the best approach with how things have been.

“I know. As long as they can play whatever song you pick, I’m sure we’ll be all right.” Lochlyn’s sole responsibility for wedding planning is to pick our wedding song.

“Oh, don’t you worry. I already know exactly which one, and I’m sure they can all play it. Though maybe a DJ is best so we can leave it to the master.” He’s intentionally not giving me clues as to who the song may be by and what song it is by avoiding pronouns.

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