Page 83 of Fighting Words

I hate how serious he looks. I worry what’s in his head. Any other man with a half-naked woman on his lap would have stars in his eyes, but not Nate. His gaze swims with thoughts that would pierce my heart if I knew them. I get the impression he’s holding some of himself back, even now. It scares me how much power he has over me; the potential for unrequited love isn’t just a distant worry but a likely end. It would be fitting karmic retribution for what I just put Andrew through, I guess.

“We should stop now,” he says, suddenly somber enough to pull his hands off me.

“No.”

My tone is harsh and unyielding.

His gaze turns mean. “This can’t happen the way you want it to.”

“You don’t know what I want. Whatever it is you’re worried about, can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

He looks away, toward the kitchen. His jaw is set. He’s struggling and I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t make sense of how this can be wrong.

I lean in and press a gentle kiss just below his ear. “Could I have you just once?” I whisper before taking the tip of his earlobe between my teeth. My hand is pressed to his chest and I feel how hard his heart is thumping. “Please.You won’t hurt me,” I promise, though even as I say it, it tastes like a lie.

Truly though, I can’t imagine a scenario where I regret having sex with Nate. He doesn’t understand how long I’ve lived without this desire. It has the potential to be heartbreaking, but it could also be so beautiful and I want to feel all of it, no matter the consequences.

He brought me in here. He undressed me and kissed me and he’s fucked with my head enough that the least he can do is finish the job.

I’m already moving, unzipping my jeans and pushing off him enough to pull them down my legs. I leave my panties on and then I work on his pants. The undressing is the easy part. Nate lets me do it, and when I get stuck or need help, he comes to my aid. It’s like he won’t initiate it, but he won’t stop it either. There must be a battle raging in his head and I wish I could help him, but I also understand that Nate isn’t going to let me do that. Not now, at least. Though deep down, I know this isn’t quite the real thing, know there is regret shadowing every single touch, I can’t stop myself from continuing.

“Do you want me?” I ask, barely believing I manage the vulnerable question.

His expression is murderous, like he’s enraged I could ever believe otherwise. Then he kisses me again, pulling me until I fall against him, until there’s no way for us to get any closer. I reach down and take him in my hand, stroking him a few times until I align us. I ask if we need protection, if we should worry about a condom. I’m on birth control—it’s not that. He shakes his head. We’re fine. It’s been so long for the both of us.

A shudder zips through me when I feel his length brush against the sensitive skin between my legs. I’m nervous as I press down onto him achingly slow. There is no rush, no rush, no…

He takes my hips in hand and releases a deep groan before he tugs me down, pressing into me to the hilt. The stretch is agony until it’s not. I feel him in ways I can’t ever take back, in ways that are hard to imagine.

Oh.

I didn’t realize.

I didn’t realize it could bethis.

Our eyes lock. My lips open. I’m going to tell him something, words that feel impossible—words I can’t mean.

I swallow them down, hide them in the pit of my stomach, and lean forward to kiss him instead. Focusing only on the taste of his mouth, his teeth scraping my lips, taking ahold of the bottom one,biting. We’re burning right on the edge of something. The sheer pleasure of our intimacy promises equal amounts of hurt.

Oh I hate this.I hate this, but it’s too good. The way he keeps ahold of my hips and starts to move me. He knows just what to do, lifting me up until I’m left empty and bereft and then slowly pressing back into me until it feels like our souls are touching. His hands squeeze tighter as I roll my hips, rocking into the quickening sensation. It’s so much better with him inside me. I never want it to end.

The first tear that slips out I swipe away so fast he doesn’t see it, but the second he tastes on his lips.

“Summer.”

I shake my head and look away, whispering, “Sorry.”

I’m apologizing for my reaction. I hate that I’ve gone so long in life and never felt this. I feel silly somehow. How many times has he been in this position with a woman, completely rocking her world? To him, it’s an average Saturday. I’m the novice, the one in tears.

I don’t want him to see me anymore, and so I fall against him, press my face into his neck, and inhale his scent as he quickens his pace, pumping his hips so that when his hand slips between my legs, when he touches me there, it’s almost too much.

Almost.

I gasp, and it’s like the pleasure is ripped out of me so quickly I can barely contain it. It’s so different to come apart while he’s buried inside me—exquisite. I clench around him and feed off his moans. For those brief seconds, we’re the closest two people can be, and maybe Nate realizes I’m not ready to separate yet because he shifts us, laying me down flat on the couch so he can move up and over me. The muscles in his shoulders bunch as he repositions me, and then he holds himself up enough that he can look down at me.

I know I look shattered. I try to turn away toward the couch cushion so I’ll be more in shadow, but his hand captures my jaw, and slowly, he turns my face so he can look at me.

He’s asking without words if I’m okay, and there’s no simple answer for that. After this, I’ll probably never be okay again. So if it’s already too late, if I’ve already opened Pandora’s box, why stop now? Why not tug him down and kiss him like I already love him? Why not let him slide into me again, deeper now with the new angle?

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