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Still, that’s a week with a man who only knows half of me and can only ever know that small piece. A week is too much time isolated together and too many opportunities to slip up. Plus, what if I accidentally say Rhys’s name in my sleep? I have never even mentioned him to Atticus. He’ll ask who Rhys is and I’ll have to explain why I never brought him up and Atticus will finally realize I am a sick, fucked up person and leave.
And I will die.
It sounds dramatic, but the very thought of losing him guts me. It rips me apart. It’s a pain I can’t even explain into words, except I know I’m not strong enough to handle it.
It’s why I haven’t asked to see him since Halloween, why I haven’t asked to see his face in nineteen months. If we submit everything, if I dive in, I have to let him into the other parts of my life. It’ll become real and tangible. It’ll be an actual relationship with all the trimmings. We’ll go out. We’ll meet each other’s friends ... families.
I will have to explain why I live three hours away from everyone I love. I have to explain why I can’t bring him home to meet Mom and Oz even though he knows I talk to my mom thirty times a day. I can’t tell him it’s because Rhys will be there. I can’t tell him that it already feels like I’m being unfaithful to both of them, and I can’t tell him why.
I can’t tell him I let Rhys spread me open across the carpet to check how wet I was. I can’t tell him I grinded my pussy into his cock, writing his name with my hips until I came soaking his crotch.
These are things you take to your grave but the second I see Rhys, I know it’ll show on my face.
The second I see Rhys, I’ll want him to finish what we started.
The phone chimes in my palm.
“I don’t ever want a break from you, dimples,”he’s written back, using my username — using Rhys’s nickname for me — and my insides twist.
My fingers squeeze the plastic until I swear I can hear it crack.
Why is this my life?
I feel the hot pinch of tears in my throat and have to suppress the urge to start bawling like a child.
Frankly, my life is wonderful. I love my life. I like my job — most days. I like my friends. I have an intense and vicious bond with my mom who is literally my best friend in the entire world, and I love my stepfather with my entire heart. I live in a cute, affordable apartment. And I am adored by a man who would walk on hot, broken glass for me.
It’s selfish to want more, but I want Rhys. I want Atticus. I want Rhys without the pain and chaos it would cause. I want Atticus not to hate me.
I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood as my thumbs work over the screen.
“I don’t think I can handle a break from you either.”
“Fuck, baby.”
I’ve heard him growl those words into my ear as he rode me violently against the wall, driving my clit back and forth across the handle of his knife. The memory rumbles across my brain now as I stand in the middle of my apartment, core throbbing.
Okay, so there is something seriously wrong with me. I don’t deny that. I can’t explain it, except that I must have been dropped on my head as a child and it fucked something up. But it’s fine. I’ve managed to deal with it for the last twenty years without too many regrets.
No regrets.
One regret?
No.
Yes. Yes, definitely regret that night. At least, I should. A normal person would. They would have been horrified to even bring out the game never mind let herself get spread open.
“No, stop it!” I mutter to myself, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose as the vivid and erotic images threaten to take me back to that night, to the rough carpet beneath my knees and Rhys’s thick, hard cock dangling over my upturned face.
But it was his eyes peering down at me, the hard clench of his jaw as he fought the hunger flaring his nostrils, furrowing his brows. He was doing everything he could to keep from touching me and that was all I wanted him to do. I wanted him to fist my hair and slam me down the veiny girth of his beautiful cock. I wanted him to use me to get himself off.
Up until that night, I’d never met a man I willingly wanted to blow. To fit his whole penis into my mouth and suck until he filled my throat with his hot, salty cum. Ironic that his would be my first. One of the few people I should never have looked at with lust and want in the first place.
I blow out a breath and focus on the stranger on my phone to find he’d sent another message.
“Just don’t forget me.”
The fact that he thinks that’s something even remotely possible makes me want to laugh. I can’t count the number of times I wanted to give him the address and had to stop myself.
