I wish the lights were on though, so I can see him, but I have a feeling he’s not ready for that yet.
I ache so much between my legs I feel like I could almost die from wanting him. I wish I could take him inside me but…I don’t want to push. That I’m the aggressor here is sort of blowing me away but he has awful secrets I hope I can coax out of him someday, no matter how much the idea terrifies me.
And the idea really, really terrifies me.
Drew whispers my name and I kiss him. Stroke him, grip him harder, move my hand faster. If I only give him a hand job tonight, then so be it. I sort of like the idea of us doing something so…juvenile. We’re two adults, naked in a bed all alone in a giant house and we could f**k each other wherever we want. He could have me in every single room in this house, out on the deck, wherever, and I’d let him, I want him that badly.
Yet here we are like we’re in the backseat of a car parked in the back of the lot at the movie theater, trying to get each other off before our midnight curfew.
A low groan escapes him and he stiffens, his entire body tense for that one hanging moment before he completely falls apart. He’s coming, all over my fingers as I keep my hand on him, his body convulsing, his hips jerking. A potent wave of satisfaction washes over me and I lean up and kiss him, tangle our tongues together, smiling when he breaks the kiss to release a shuddery little moan.
Pulling away from him, I climb out of bed without a word and head for the bathroom across the hall. I flick on the lights, my image in the mirror startling me and I stop and stare for a moment.
My eyes sparkle, my cheeks are flushed and my lips are swollen from his crushing kisses. My entire body is covered in a rosy blush and my ni**les are hard.
I wish Drew could see me. That we didn’t have to be so covered in darkness. Does the darkness make it easier for him?
Pushing the gloomy thoughts from my head, I wash my hands, turn off the faucet and try my damnedest to smooth out my hair. It’s a tangled mess, wild waves all around my face and I blame the rain.
I also blame the man who buried his hands in my hair so he could hold me still and kiss me senseless.
He’s still lying where I left him. I catch his silhouette when I slip into the bedroom, though at least his breathing has evened out. I go to him, crawling on top of the bed, where I kneel beside him.
“Fable…” he starts but I shush him, leaning over his face so I can place a finger to his lips.
“Don’t say a word. You might ruin it,” I murmur and I feel his faint smile against my finger.
Satisfied he’s not going to say something that’ll spoil the moment, I lie down beside him and pull the covers back over us. Despite my vibrating, on edge body, I’m exhausted and the idea of falling back asleep cradled in Drew’s strong arms is just too hard to resist. I snuggle in close, resting my cheek against his rock hard chest, where I can feel his wildly beating heart.
His fingers are back in my hair and his mouth brushes against my forehead. Contentedness washes over me, heady and potent and I close my eyes, letting my fingers drift across his skin.
“I know tomorrow’s Thanksgiving and all, so I should probably save this confession for then. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to say this in front of my parents so I’ll tell you now what I’m most thankful for,” he whispers against my hair, his low, deep voice soothing me, lulling me into a false hope I’m too tired to fight.
I open my eyes, staring unseeingly into the dark. “What are you most thankful for?” I ask, my breath lodged in my throat. I both want to know and dread knowing what he’s about to say.
He’s silent for a moment, as if gathering up the courage and my heart constricts for him. “You. Being here, spending time with you, how you take care of me no matter how hard I try to push you away.” His voice hitches and he clears his throat. “I’m thankful for you.”
I say nothing and thankfully, neither does he for long, too-quiet minutes. My throat is clogged with some unknown emotion I can’t quite but my finger on and I try to swallow past it, but it’s no use. His muscular arms are tight around me, I feel like I can’t move, I can’t breathe and with a little cry I slide down and slip out of his embrace, falling out of the bed when I do so.
I scramble to my feet, hear him sit up, the blankets rustling with his movements. “Fable, what’s wrong?”
Now I’m the one who’s panicking and I hate it. I feel terrible. He didn’t ask for this sort of crappy treatment. He’s just laid his heart out and said he’s thankful for me and here I go trying to escape. Scared of what he’s saying and how wonderfully real it feels.
But it’s not real. He’s caught up, just like I’m caught up and I can’t differentiate what’s real and what’s fake anymore. I know he’s in the same place. He wants us to be real and it’s easy to think we’ll work together when we’re all alone, pretending to be something we’re not.
When we return to the real world, we’ll see how different we are. How we could never be a couple.
I’m not good enough for the likes of Andrew D. Callahan.
“I—I need to take a shower.” I suddenly do. The idea of scalding hot water washing away all of my tumultuous emotions has massive appeal and I need to get out of here.
“All right.” He clears his throat, and I wonder if he realizes how uncomfortable I am. He must. “Will you…will you come back to bed with me when you’re done?”
It took everything out of him to say that, I could tell, just by the tone of his voice. “Sure,” I lie, feeling terrible. I am the worst sort of person, lying to him. I hate liars. But I should hate me because I’m only lying to myself, thinking Drew can somehow, some way, feel something for me.